


Asunder

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, long separation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: Thor and Loki are raised as the twin sons of Odin and Frigga of Asgard, but there are rumors which come to a head at their Coming of Age celebration, when Loki's true heritage is revealed and his birth family demand the return of their kidnapped son.





	1. Chapter 1

ONE

The twin princes of Asgard were eleven years old when they met their first frost giant.

The open plain before the capital city was alive with sound, color, and delicious aromas due to the great festival of the Realms, an event that occurred only a handful of times in a regular Asgardian’s life. Tents were scattered across the grass, filled with artisans selling wares, magically preserved flowers from different worlds, local music, and a delicious array of treats both savory and sweet. Most of the merchants were Aesir, Vanir, or Elvin, but there were less conventional visitors as well. Even, tucked in a well-shaded corner, a single Jotun, her blue skin carefully protected from the heat of the day as she called to passers-by to stop and peruse her delicate mechanical wares.

She was small for a Jotun, barely taller than the king, slender-built but solidly muscled as her people were. The whirring, dancing creations at her table were of little interest to Thor, Odin and Frigga’s eldest by a handful of vital minutes. His nose was far too interested in the sweets from Vanir. But the king’s watchful younger son spied them, and his sharp mind took an immediate interest.

“This way,” he ordered his brother, wrapping his hand around Thor’s arm and tugging him away from the latest selection of sticky buns. “I want to see those mechanical…” he searched for a word, “things.”

“But this one has berries!” Thor whined, though he would vehemently argue if someone used the word to describe his wheedling. He tried to pout at his brother, but Loki was too smart to look back. “And look, Loki, fresh cream!”

Loki rolled his eyes and stuck out a foot, expertly catching Thor’s ankle so his heavier brother tripped, allowing Loki to reset his trajectory. “You’ve had three, and you’ll vomit if you have another. If you ruin your new boots, Mother will be angry.”

Thor brooded but allowed himself to be waylaid, following good naturedly until he saw where they were headed. He immediately set his heels. “Brother!” he hissed, eyes widening. His heart pounded one-two-three in his ears. He had never seen one of the frost giants outside of paintings and storybooks. “That’s a Jotun!”

The look Loki gave him, despite the deep bond of affection between them, still managed to imply that he believed Thor only in possession of two well-worn wits. “You are _brilliant_ ,” he said with false praise. “However did you make that deduction?”

Thor began to answer, “Because she’s blue-” before catching himself and scowling. Loki had a much firmer grasp of sarcasm at their delicate age than Thor, who tended to take every question as literal. He shook back blond hair from his eyes and instead whispered, “Jotun are _monsters_. You know what Father says. They’re wild barbarians!”

“This one is clearly tamed,” Loki said soothingly. “Heimdall would never allow a dangerous Jotun here, would he?” He tsked softly and shook his head. Their mother always said he was eleven going on two hundred. “I thought you were a great adventurer, oh Son of Odin,” he said sadly, “yet you cower in fear before a simple merchant at a local fair.”

Thor glared at him, hackles immediately up. “I do not _cower_ ,” he growled.

Loki shrugged airily and turned away. “Of course not. You’re merely protecting my back as I go forth to greet a dangerous and unusual ally on my own.”

Thor stared daggers at his brother’s neck. He wasn’t going to fall for this again! Loki was always goading him into things he didn’t want to do, and he didn’t want to meet this Jotun. 

“It’s a shame,” Loki’s last words fluttered back to him, “that only I will get to tell of meeting a frost giant on this day.”

Thor’s hands curled into fists of determination. Then he heaved a sigh and broke into a jog to reach his brother’s side. Loki’s smile when Thor caught up was definitely more of a smirk.

The Jotun was finishing with another customer as they approached, leaving the boys – and their curious fingers – free to study the devices set out along the simple table. Loki traced his hand over a fairy designed to fly, a snake that slithered, a wooden bear with such delicately carved fur that it felt like silk, and gave a little sigh. Such _artistry_ went beyond ingenuity; magic had been used here, and he could still feel it, cool and shifting, within the wood. He had never seen such brilliantly built and enchanted objects, even within the palace walls. 

Thor, of a less delicate nature, snatched up the wooden snake and wiggled the rattling tail. “Look, brother,” he teased, “it’s you!” 

“Careful!” Loki reached out, gently supporting the trinket from below. “You’ll break it!”

The Jotun’s low chuckle distracted them both. “Don’t worry, small prince,” she said in a rumble, “they are not so easily destroyed as that.” She spread her hands to indicate everything she had for sale. “I would only have angry returns if all my wares were delicate.”

“See?” Thor said importantly. Loki stuck his tongue out, deciding more appropriate comebacks could be saved for later. Instead, he turned his attention back to the goods, reaching out to press his fingers curiously to what looked to be a bubble trapped in a wooden cage.

“I am Drervildi,” the merchant said. “And I believe you are the small princes, Thor and Loki Odinsons?”

Thor tossed his hair again, less of an affectation since it was forever escaping its braids to fall in his eyes. “I’m Thor,” he confirmed. “This is Loki.” Neither boy asked how the visitor knew; everyone recognized them. This was why they were safe to wander alone, under the watchful eye of all of Asgard’s people (and, unbeknownst to them, the extra security of Heimdall’s all-seeing eyes). Belatedly remembering his manners, he added, “Your . . . things are very nice.”

“They have magic in them,” Loki added, his voice uncharacteristically awed. Thor frowned and looked at them as well, concentrating hard until he saw the little hints of power that his brother found so effortlessly.

The Jotun smiled and lifted the encased bubble to set it carefully in the prince’s pale hands. “You are young to sense so much,” she praised him. He looked momentarily bashful, but then the bubble began to glow, and his eyes widened.

“I did not tell it to do this!” he cried, delighted, turning to show it to Thor, green eyes bright with excitement.

The Jotun’s smile faltered. “It reacts to magic,” she said, her voice faintly uncertain. “See how it glows? It senses the magic within you, and creates a light to match.”

Thor nodded wisely. “That makes sense, brother. Mother says you have a surfeen of magic.”

“Surfeit,” Loki corrected automatically.

“That means he’s going to be a great sorcerer one day,” Thor told the Jotun, and he didn’t miss the blush on Loki’s nose when he said it.

Loki grinned. The orb pulsed twice and then settled into a steady white-blue glow. . “It’s beautiful.”

Thor, who had seen his mother’s seiðr-lamps and the small flames Loki could create, was less impressed, but he played along nicely with a, “Yes, it is very nice.” Then he wrinkled his nose in thought. “But your magic is green, brother. This is blue.”

The Jotun’s head turned quickly, her eyes narrowing, but neither boy noticed. 

Thor reached out and touched the orb through the artful breaks in the wood. The light seemed somehow to ignore its casing, giving out an uninterrupted glow. He hissed and drew his hand back, sticking his finger in his mouth. “If’s cowd!” he said indignantly around the frozen digit.

Loki rolled his eyes. Gentle green magic flowed around his fingers as he, too, touched the glass. “No, it isn’t. You are always overreacting.”

“I am _not_! It burned my finger!” Which made no sense, because hot burned, not cold, but that didn’t change the fact that his finger felt like he’d stuck it in a candle for too long.

Loki ignored him and looked up at the Jotun, who was now watching him with open wonder. “How much does this cost?” he asked politely. “I am interested in bargaining.”

Drervildi didn’t speak for a moment, only staring into Loki’s eyes as if searching for something. Then she said slowly, “I would gift it to you, as a sign of trust sorely needed between our people.”

Thor frowned, letting his injured digit out with a pop. “We’re not supposed to take advantage of being princes-” he argued, but Loki’s palm slammed over his mouth brought his words to a halt.

“Thank you,” Loki said with his most winning smile, a full bag of coins, and a regal nod of his dark head. “I shall treasure it. Come along, Thor. Weren’t you interested in the cakes?”

It was an obvious ploy, but Thor allowed it. There would be cakes at the end, after all, and even if Loki would somehow trick him into paying for them both, cake was always worth it.

The Jotun watched as the boys walked away, barely hearing Loki’s disgusted protest when Thor licked his palm, or Thor’s smug reply. Instead, she saw only the glowing light in Loki’s hands, and the faintest hint of frost on the bubble’s mercurial surface.

\--------

They learned of Jotun runts from a soldier who shouldn’t have been talking to them. They were adolescents closing in on adulthood, both long and lean though the similarities in appearance and temperament ended there. Thor was the one who loved to sneak into the camps and meet the soldiers, drinking in stories of valor on the field of battle. Loki preferred cleverness and magic to brutes hitting each other with hammers and axes, but there were nights when his brother could convince him to slip quietly from the palace and down to the training barracks. 

Of course, the soldiers kept their stories appropriate for a pair of teens who also happened to be the sons of the king and queen, at least until they got carried away and started sidestepping into the real stories of life on the road. Bawdier tales and bloodier battles came with the flow of ale, and the boys learned more than they should on some nights. 

On this night, the subject was the barbarous Jotun, giants one step away from beasts who lived like animals among the ice and snow and couldn’t be trusted with their greatest treasure, which was kept in Odin’s deepest vault. “Twelve feet high!” one soldier claimed, while Volstagg, newly come of age and a gifted storyteller, provided sound effects and mimed the stomping of the great feet. “They’re slender as trees, but strong as Odin himself, wielding strange weapons of enormous size!”

Thor drank up every word while Loki sprawled against his side, pretending to read a book by the familiar glow of his Jotun-lamp. Loki frowned on appearing too enthusiastic about anything, though he was personally interested in tales of the fearsome frost giants. Thor, over-enthusiastic as always, kept gripping Loki’s arm and shaking it at the best bits.

“We met a Jotun once,” Thor offered eagerly. “She was at the great festival!”

Loki snorted and turned the page with one elegant finger. “And she was nowhere near twelve feet tall.” He glanced over at the storytellers, weighing his words. “She couldn’t have been over six. Perhaps our illustrious soldiers exaggerate their own courage against only the most moderate of giants.”

Several soldiers were immediately offended, but good-hearted Volstagg only laughed. “I remember her well, lad. Once in a great while, Jotun are born who are more Aesir sized.” He held a hand at his own collarbone, as Aesir sized didn’t include Volstagg’s great height. “They are dangerous enough, with their strength and their magic, but they see little battle. They call them dweorh. Runts.”

“Like puppies?” Thor asked. “The tiny ones that often don’t live?” 

Volstagg scratched at the side of his nose. “Aye, of a sort, though as far as I know, Jotun runts are fully healthy, just small, at least by giant standards.” He grinned. “I did meet one on the battlefield once! Smaller than me and riding one of those great shaggy beasts of theirs! He threw ice from his hands like daggers, and took a decent slice out of the side of my neck!” He tilted his head to cheerfully show the scar, peeking beneath the voluminous beard that was the current envy of all the adolescent boys on Asgard, save Loki who found it disgusting and unclean. 

Loki looked at his own hands, sending a tendril of power between them. A sorcerer on the battlefield? Using magic to fight? He hadn’t known the Jotun were anything like the Vanir, his mother’s people who appreciated magic while he lived in a world that loved only dumb muscle. 

An older soldier, of lower class and therefore lower rank than Volstagg, said quietly, “There were rumors, once upon a time, that the Jotun queen gave birth to a runt. Her second-born, after Byleistr, but the babe died.”

This was interesting, indeed. Rumors and tales were a specialty of Loki’s, and he shifted to ask more, only to be interrupted.

“Byleistr!” Volstagg boomed, “Now there’s a giant! Strong as an ox and twice as stupid!”

But the hour grew late, and the boys - or Loki at least - knew better than to stay out after midnight. They were allowed a certain freedom, but their safety was too important to be treated lightly. Loki might be able to leave behind an image of himself in bed, but Thor’s attempts with pillows were pathetic at best. They said their good-byes and wove their way to Loki’s latest secret entrance to the palace.

“They’re not twelve feet, you know,” Loki said as they walked. “On average, they’re closer to nine.”

Thor grinned. “Still big enough to knock _you_ over with a decent sneeze, _little_ brother,” he teased, and by the time they reached the inner hallways, Loki had a handful of Thor’s hair in his fist and Thor a decided sulk. 

“For your cheek,” Loki said archly before releasing his hold so they could part ways. They slept in separate wings; if one wing was attacked, the prince from the other could be moved to safety. Thor rubbed at his scalp with more dramatic fervor than the wound demanded. “One day we will fight the Jotun, and when we do, I shall defeat twice as many as you.”

“Only in your sweetest dreams, brother! I will be the mightiest warrior Asgard has ever seen! Even greater than Father!” Thor shot back before running away, the only sure method to ensure he had the last word. 

Loki watched him go, his sharp mind shifting through thoughts of small giants and lost princes and foreign kings.

\------

The coming of age of any member of nobility was a grand affair, but the dual celebration of twin sons of the All-Father was a spectacle never seen before. 

The entire country celebrated with food and dancing and gifts from the crown. Nobility enjoyed feasts and theater at the palace; the peasantry celebrated with their own local tales and flowing ale at the taverns. A coin with an image of Prince Thor on one side and Prince Loki on the other was minted and given free to every citizen, no matter the age, and a fair number of adolescents argued over which was the most handsome. It was the grandest, happiest event of that or several other centuries, and good will abounded toward the royal family, just as had been the intent of including the general populace in the celebrations. 

Naturally, ambassadors arrived from the lower kingdoms, bringing gifts and promises of fealty to the heirs of Asgard. Thor, as the eldest, was heir-presumptive, but even among the Aesir, death was not a stranger. Loki was well if not better trained for the matters of state, with his quiet, watchful nature. Thor, outgoing and strong, was the bold face of the brothers. 

Loki looked utterly bored as he sat with Thor in their matching thrones, both dressed in their newly chosen colors as gifts were presented to them. Thor was broad and welcoming in black and red; Loki sleek and watchful in green and gold. It was up to Thor to smile and nod and thank everyone personally, nudging Loki from time to time to remind him to stop using magic to toy with the ribbons and pay attention. 

“I know you’re perfectly capable of being charming,” Thor grumbled at his twin as what felt like the thousandth semi-important-low-noble gave them another vessel of wine. 

Loki showed his teeth in a sly grin that made Thor’s heart do a little dance. “I could, but then what would you complain about?” he asked lazily, his low voice a caress in the air. 

Thor shot him a look, considering his options. He could let Loki continue playing the part of the bored second son, or he could resort to base bribery. Given how tired he was, and how mind-numbingly bored, bribery won out. “Every book we’ve been given straight to your personal library if you’ll help me out with being nice to these people.” He spoke from the side of his mouth. Two visitors were squabbling over which was next in line.

Loki considered this. “Your access?”

“I’ll read them there.”

A hum. “Permission only, and absolutely no food.”

Thor sighed. “One time, Loki. One time I spilled honey-”

“No food or no deal, my dearest and only brother, or I shall close my eyes and take a well-deserved nap.”

Thor snarled. Loki smiled. His long lashes fluttered closed over his eyes.

“Very well. The deal is made,” Thor sighed, and moved his hand in a long-ago agreed-upon pattern to seal the agreement.

Loki, pleased, straightened up, lifted his chin, and turned a smile on the crowd that would melt the hardest of hearts. If it made his brother’s own heart do another odd little flip, there was no need for anyone but Thor to know. 

Now both utterly charming, they received three more gifts before a strange silence fell over the assembled guests. Both princes looked up. 

A giant stood in the doorway. 

He was at least nine feet tall, narrow of build but sinewy with muscle, and dressed in far less clothing than any Asgardian would wear away from an outing in the water. His blue skin seemed to glow softly-or no, the etchings did, a lighter blue that denoted family lines. 

Thor didn’t recognize him at once, but Loki must have, since his hand darted out and grabbed Thor’s wrist in a tight grip. Information on the Jotun was hard to find in Asgard, but even their scarce books held the patterns that indicated the royal family. “Too young for Laufey or Fárbauti,” Loki whispered. “No, this must be-”

“His majesty,” the announcer boomed, “Prince Byleistr Laufeyson, of Jotenheim.”

A soft murmur went throughout the room. Both princes stood as their parents stepped forward, Frigga bowing and Odin gripping his staff. Mjolnir sang in Thor’s hand; Loki’s long fingers slid into hidden pockets of space.

The royal family of Jotunheim did not come to Asgard for any reason. They had not for hundreds of years. Even their wars had been fought in the frozen lands. 

“I come bearing a gift,” Byleistr said. His voice was beautiful, deep with a hint of hidden music. His red eyes swept the room and stopped not on Odin, but on Thor and Loki. “I come in honor of the young princes, and our future king.”

“You are welcome, Prince Byleistr,” Frigga assured him, stepping gracefully into his line of sight Her smile was warm and genuine, despite the white knuckled grip her husband kept on his staff. She turned, sweeping a hand back to her sons. “Thor, Loki. Come and meet the prince of Jotunheim.”

Thor and Loki exchanged a look, but did as they were bid. Thor walked with a swagger that already spoke of over-confidence; Loki’s steps were utterly silenced by an effortless will of his substantial magical abilities. Nevertheless, they moved in synch, strides identical from a lifetime together.

They came to a stop before Byleistr and nodded, the perfect incline of the head offered from higher to lower rank. Byleistr did not bow. Instead, he whistled. Through one of the high windows, a sharp cry announced the flight of a bird of prey. The creature, a hawk of beautiful white and brown, circled through the air and come to land on Byleistr’s upraised hand. 

“This is Liandi,” the prince said, touching his great hand to the bird’s head. It looked tiny on his wrist. “She is an intelligent creature, trained as a companion for hunting. She has worked with dweorh of our kind, to better prepare her to come here, and join with one of you.”

Loki and Thor, so often at odds, were for once equally fascinated. “But there are two of us,” Thor said, motioning between them as Loki leaned forward, fascination clear in his eyes. “Who is to have her? Do you not have another?”

Byleistr met Thor’s gaze. A haze rose from his shoulders, like breath in the wintertime. “No.”

“We can hardly accept one gift for two princes,” Odin muttered, just a little too loud. Frigga’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“We can,” Frigga said firmly. “This is not the first. Thor and Loki have shared since before they came into the world.” She offered the Jotun prince a conciliatory smile. “I thank you, on behalf of my sons, for this great honor.”

Byleistr didn’t take his eyes from the princes. “No,” he said again. “She will not be shared. She will choose only one.” 

Loki’s dark eyebrows rose. “Which one?” he asked, his tone lightly amused, hiding his internal desire to have this creature as his own, something which was his and not Thor’s. 

“The only one,” the Jotun answered, and then he spoke a word that sounded like ice cracking, and the hawk launched herself into the air. 

She hovered, wings beating, over the princes of Asgard, for only a moment. Then, without further hesitation, she swooped toward Loki, who lifted his hand to protect his face, only to feel the weight of her on his forearm and the flash of pain as one talon dug into the flesh above his guard.

Thor muttered a disappointed curse under his breath, and then-

Byleistr, heir to King Laufey, released a growl from his chest like winter wolves, and ice crackled out from his feet as he turned on Odin with a fury that snapped in the air. “You,” he snarled. “All these years, and you had him!”

Thor leaped forward, lifting his hammer, and blades appeared in Frigga’s hands as she stepped in front of her husband and king. Beyond them, the royal guards surged forward in formation.

Loki, transfixed, stared into the eyes of the hawk. 

_Master_ she whispered in his mind. _Helblindi._

Jagged walls of ice tore up from the floor, blocking off the room, creating a freezing space where stood only Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki, and the furious prince of Jotunheim. “Protect him at your peril,” he boomed. “I will have him release my brother, though I must tear through you to do so! You all stand here, thieves!”

Thor growled back, “Don’t threaten my-”

His voice disappeared in the momentous creaking of the ice. “Let. Him. Go.” Byleistr ordered. The ice vibrated throughout the walls, beneath their feet. It cracked and solidified, harder than steel. “Now, Borson.”

Loki turned his head. His eyes, wide and staring, met Odin’s. “Father,” he asked, his voice distant. “Mother. Who is he? Who is Helblindi?”

“No one, no one,” Frigga said soothingly, but over her the Jotun prince rumbled, “I will have war for this,” and the All Father sighed.

He raised his hand. 

“He was abandoned!” Odin declared. “He would have died had I not brought him here!”

Byleistr showed his teeth. “He was in the temple, with the casket! The two most precious, most protected things in all our lands, and you stole them both! Admit your crime!” One great hand lifted and pointed at Loki and the hawk holding to his arm. “Liandi knows. She knows only my blood. Only Laufey’s blood. Give him to me or there will be more bloodshed. My sire will bow for the casket, but my bearer will kill for her son!”

Loki’s voice broke. HIs voice, and something in his chest that was like being cracked open. “It’s me,” he whispered. He stared at his wrist, at his hand, at his arm. Radiating from where the hawk dug her talons into the leather bracer, what skin was visible was slowly, inexorably, changing color. He looked up, and his eyes fell not on his father, or on his brother, but on Frigga. “It’s me,” he said, his voice stronger. 

“My darling-” Frigga began, but no words joined them. She lifted her hands to her lips and tears fell from her eyes. 

Thor rushed to Loki instinctively, hands reaching to cradle the arm even as blue spread up his brother’s neck, began sweeping over the familiar face. “Loki!” He glared at Byleistr. “Stop this! You’re hurting him!” 

When he touched Loki’s skin, the burn was sharp and immediate. He jerked away, instinctively, the tips of his fingers nearly black, his eyes wide with shock. 

“He is not in pain,” the Jotun responded, a slight smile on his lips as Thor held his injured fingers to his chest with the opposite hand. “He is only seeing the truth.”

Loki wrenched his eyes away from Frigga to Odin. “Father. What am I?”

“You are my . . .” Odin’s voice trailed off. He took a breath, like a very old man. “You are the son of my heart, raised in my house.”

Thor whispered, “Brother,” too shocked to put everything together and recognize the impossible truth. His hand throbbed, but still he longed to reach out, offer comfort, and he did, touching Loki’s sleeve.

“No,” Loki said, his voice strangely steady, his body rigid. Inside, he felt like he was screaming. Liandi watched him with golden eyes. “I’m not.”

The skin on his forehead cracked and broke open. Two horns began to emerge, silver and black.

When Byleistr spoke, there was pain and loss in his voice. “Helblindi,” he said. “My little brother. I held you the day you were born.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, a still stunned Loki stood before the Bifrost. He was himself again – or, not himself, Aesir, pale skin and green eyes and the clothes of the prince of Asgard. Thor stood close by his side, a familiar presence about to be lost forever. On his shoulder, the hawk Liandi, the power of her talons bound with charmed cloth.

“There will be no war,” Odin said to Byleistr, who stood with Loki’s single trunk strapped to his back. 

The Jotun prince made no effort to hide his disgust, as he had since the truth was revealed, since he realized that Loki hadn’t _known_. “I can guarantee nothing. My bearer’s wrath was considerable when we had only suspicions and old rumor. Now that I will tell her that you stole her child, and raised him as one of _you_ ,” he spat the word, “hiding from him his true culture, using him to be your future puppet-king,” here Loki winced, and Thor interrupted.

“He is no one’s puppet!”

“Open your eyes, little prince!” The Jotun growled. “A son of Laufey raised in the Borson’s own home? Revealed to be a long lost heir?” He sliced a hand through the air. “I will not allow it. I am taking Helblindi home. Perhaps that joy will be enough to prevent conflict for this egregious act.”

“My name,” Loki said through clenched teeth, “is Loki.”

The only emotion in him was anger. 

Broiling, hot, raging, focused at everyone and everything in the moment. 

_My entire life, a lie. My father, my mother, my-_

He looked at Thor, close by his side, so clearly heartbroken.

He turned his head away. 

Byleistr’s look was almost gentle. “No, little brother,” he said gently. “Your name, your true name is Helblindi. But we shall call you as you wish, Loki, son of Laufey.” He rested a broad hand on Loki’s shoulder and Loki fought the urge to throw it off and run, run anywhere. Somewhere he could be alone. Process all this. 

Somewhere he could fall to pieces and have no one the wiser. 

But Loki was a prince, and the threat of war was eminent and in earnest. Only he could prevent it, by leaving the parents who kidnapped him to return to the ones who birthed him. 

He stepped forward, past Heimdall, toward the Bifrost.

A hand grabbed his wrist, the fingers wrapped in bandages. “Brother!” Thor whispered, and Loki mocked himself for ever believing they had lain together beneath their mother’s heart. No. It had all been a fiction, down to birth order. He was older. Older by six days. He had only been declared younger to insure a frost giant never sat upon the throne of Asgard.

They were nothing alike. 

“I’m not, Thor,” Loki said evenly as he pried Thor’s fingers free, lifted his hand away. His chest ached. Thor was not at fault. Not for this, at least. “I’m not your brother. I never was.”

A familiar look settled on Thor’s face then, an expression of mulish determination. “I don’t care where you came from, or what lies they told. You are my brother. Always.”

Tears burned Loki’s eyes. He did not let them fall.

He rested his hand momentarily on that of the man who had been his twin, his other half, his over- confident, foolish, cheerful brother, rival, and friend.

“Good-bye, Thor,” he said, and let go.

He had no words for Odin or Frigga. He met Heimdall’s all seeing eyes with contempt. He nodded once to the prince of Jotunheim, son of Laufey. 

“I’m ready.”

\------------------

_Dear Brother,_

_Father says that I am not to write you letters, because you need to get used to your new home. I already wrote two and he got angry and burned them. Therefore, I will not send this one through any familiar means. I will keep it until such time as I can deliver it to you. I wish I had your powers, so I could send it now. Lightning isn’t a good messenger and yes, I tried._

_I know you’re angry, and I know you’re hurt, but no matter what our parents did or said, I am you brother, and you are mine. I hope you like the palace at Jotunheim. But I miss you. The days are dull here without your cleverness and company. Dinners are difficult because I, too, am angry at Mother and Father. Father especially. I miss you, Loki. I wish you all happiness._

_Your devoted brother,  
Thor_

_\---_

_~~Moth~~ Frigga gifted my first journal to me, as well as ink I could spell for privacy. She provided my first books, and taught me to read the words of the Aesir, the Vanir, and how to pierce the veil of all languages through AllSpeak. When my thoughts grew too disorganized, she encouraged me to write them. It has helped me, over the years, to keep certain dark thoughts to myself, especially as concerns the All-Father. Putting these suspicions and emotions to paper assisted me in keeping them from ~~my family~~ Asgard’s royal family, primarily Thor, who isn’t given to introspection. _

_I did not bring my journals with me. Now, six months into my exile here, the decision remains sound. Agreements were made – naturally with no input from me - that all my ties to Asgard were to be cut. I have had neither letter nor gift to remind me of life before the lie of my birth came to light. Having the journals would be unnecessarily and dangerously sentimental as I adapt to a new birthright and the life that comes with it. Yet, I find my thoughts in need of organization again, and it would be foolish to disregard a technique that has worked in the past simply because it comes from a woman whose lies outweighed her truths._

_It is cold here. ~~I wear my My body is This form should~~ I should not feel it as I do, since ~~I wear me am in my~~ I am Jotun at all times now. The adaptation has taken some time. The lies of the All-Father are endless. I was taught little of my homeland beyond childish horror stories. No one told us that magic is valued here, even from a prince. I was not told they had three sexes and four genders. I was not told that Odin hid my own sex from me. I did not know it was possible to be what I am. I was not-_

\------------------

Five hundred years passed.

Treaties were drawn between Odin and the royal family of Jotunheim, the details of which neither Thor nor Loki was privy to. Thor knew only that there were deals made to prevent war – war for kidnapping the son of Laufey and raising him in disguise as an Asgardian. He knew, too, that it caused diplomatic disturbances throughout the Realms, as the Jotun’s silence was purchased with greater autonomy that incited the others to ask for more as well. They didn’t quite get back their Casket, but it was taken to Jotunheim in secret for a limited time, its magic allowed to briefly renew the world and bring spring and trade back to the frost giants.

Loki also knew some of this – he knew of the Casket, and was in fact there when Odin arrived with the treasure. He said nothing to the man who had claimed to be his father; he only touched the Casket, felt and released its power, as was his birthright as a child of Laufey. It was only a small piece of everything he had to learn, the person he had to become: Loki Helblindi Laufeyson, Prince of Jotunheim. To this end, his former life was kept locked away. There were no letters, no reminders of the prince of Asgard. His anger at the lies was such that he didn’t chafe against the restriction, though he did wonder, in quiet moments, about the man he had thought to be his brother. 

He heard stories of Thor. They disturbed him. They sounded like tales of Odin, cocky and violent, finding his worth not in peace but on the battlefield. He would have hoped for better. Their mother- _Frigga_ , his mother was here, in Jotunheim-had said they worked best together, with Loki to soothe Thor’s wild edges and Thor to control Loki’s chaotic nature. 

Well, they were on their own now.

Over the centuries, relations between Asgard and Jotunheim changed little. While the stories of Jotun monsters coming in the night lost some of their teeth as knowledge that one had lived peacefully in the royal palace, in Jotunheim the Aesir became a race capable of kidnapping a child from his home and forcing him to live his life as an enemy. Fear of Asgard twisted into anger. Whispers or war were no longer limited to those in power; the story of their lost prince spread them throughout the people.

It was into this era of dangerous instability that Odin proposed a solution to finally unite Asgard and Jotunheim, inspired by the long-ago union of Asgard and Vanaheim. 

“A marriage?” Loki demanded, magic swirling around his hands. He wore his true form at all times now, blue skin and black hair, the elegant curve of his horns, though his eyes remained stubbornly green despite his attempts to will them to a proper red. “You would do with me what Odin meant to do!”

Farbauti, his bearer, looked no more pleased than he at the idea, and had told her husband at length that this was folly. But Laufey was not to be moved. In a land that had been in desperate straits for so long, the good of the many outweighed the desires of one small prince. “No, you are yourself, Loki, and you will marry an Asgardian and produce children with ties to both royal families.” His smile was calculating. “Your spouse will come to live here, as befits a consort, and as a symbol to our people that you will not be stolen again.”

“Odin has no second child!” Loki argued. “He has only Thor, and if the stories are to be believed, he’s become a brute in the very image of his father!” Loki twisted power around his hands, between his fingers, an indication of nerves. He had long ago buried thoughts of his childhood with Thor at his side, of his not-brother’s warm nature and bright smiles. Half a millennium changed a person. “Odin would never send his beloved son to freeze here, and he cannot be consort when he is to be king.”

Thor would not even recognize Loki now.

“There are other noble families. An appropriate consort has been selected.” Laufey studied his small son. Time in Jotunheim had added a scant few inches to Loki’s slender frame, but he was still barely over six feet. “Despite your tricks and your power, you are still a dweorh.”

Loki glared at Laufey. Laufey glared back. Loki’s size forever marked him; no man, woman, neutroi, or intersex of giant size would comfortably suit the young prince. Loki’s considerable magical abilities, learned first under Queen Frigga and then the Jotun magicians, would never replace his missing height and strength in Laufey’s eyes. “If you are to pass on my strength as your brother has done, you must have someone who . . .” he waved a hand, “suits you.”

“I don’t believe size alone indicates a suitable partner,” Loki snapped, “or all marriages would be determined by height and weight.”

Farbauti hid a chuckle behind her hand, but Byleistr, ever serious and obedient, sided with their father. “It is decided, Loki. You will go to the Brifrost and meet your betrothed, you will be polite, and you will wed them. As a wedding gift, the Borson will present you with the Casket of Ancient Winters, bound to your power. That is too great a boon to lose because you want to fuss over romance.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, calculating. The Casket, bound to his power? The Casket’s power was for the king of the Jotun, not the dwarf second son. That requirement must have come from Odin, foolishly believing some remnant of loyalty to Asgard would keep Loki from using the Casket against them. He smiled to himself. Not against Asgard, but it _would_ be tempting to set it off straight in Odin’s smug face.

But, no.

For all that he was a being torn between two worlds – the warmth and beauty of Asgard, the ice and stillness of Jotunheim – he was also raised doubly as a prince. He never truly expected freedom in choosing a mate; Odin and Frigga had been an arranged marriage, after all, and they fit together so well that they had cheerfully kidnapped and lied to a baby for centuries. Who could ask for more in a relationship? “Very well,” he said, his voice revealing nothing. “What is the woman’s name? It is a woman, I presume?” It made little difference to Loki. “Asgard would see a man as too powerful and useful to be pawned off to us.” He considered for a moment. “They also have a limited understanding of Jotunn sexes and reproduction.”

“Barbarians,” Farbauti muttered, and no one in the room disagreed. Laufey was manipulative and powerful, but he was not fool enough to offend his wife and the many others of part or full femininity in his kingdom.

“Yes, a woman of noble birth. It is decided. She will arrive in a month’s time, as planned.” Laufey stood, the movement a dismissal. “You will take part in the preparations, given your knowledge of their culture and needs.”

“And who is this mystery woman?” Loki asked his sire’s back. The great king stopped for only a moment.

“The Lady Sif,” he answered, and left the room without glancing at his son’s surprised expression. Bylesitr followed on their king’s heels.

“Bindi?” Farbauti asked, seeing the expression on Loki’s face. She alone of the family never called him by his preferred Asgardian name. Nor did she call him the name she had chosen all those centuries ago; Bindi was a truce just between the two of them. There was great warmth in it, ans Loki leaned a bit into her presence. “You recognize the name?”

Loki’s surprise melted into an uncomfortable grimace. “The Lady Sif,” he said, “was a playmate of my,” he caught himself, “of Thor’s.” He looked up at his mother, a dozen memories pressing in on him, so long denied. “And she just so happens to hate me.”

\---------------  
_Dear Brother,_

_Sif is determined to be recognized as one of the warrior guards of Asgard. I see nothing wrong with it. Were we not raised on stories of the Valkyries? But she deals with a certain amount of opposition. As you might imagine, most of that opposition is now lying unconscious in the vicinity of her feet. I daresay she will be successful and earn her commission in the end._

_I am doing better, fighting without you. I should have realized much sooner how we were trained to make up for each other’s deficiencies. I must pay attention to everything on the field, and that was always your talent. I’ve taken more wounds since you went away, but the healers are competent and only a couple have scarred. Not that I mind scars. They’re said to be quite dashing._

_With Love,  
Thor_

_\---_

_My specialized rooms are now complete. Everything is fit to my size, and I was granted an area to practice my abilities, as asked. The level of frustration I feel in learning the style of magicks here is equaled only by that of my tutors, who were told to expect genius and feel they have been left instead with a fool. I have been trained in Vanir magic, ~~M~~ Frigga’s use of weaving with seiðr. I never recognized nor called upon my innate ice abilities. I must use them as Thor uses lightning, and I do not trust instinct in the place of practice and cunning. Thor has so little control, and I will not be like him, blind to anything else on the battlefield._

_I have asked for books from Vanaheim. I have been denied. I must learn to be Jotun, Laufey tells me, as much as a dweorh can. As if my power is not tenfold his, was I only allowed to use it._

\------------------------

“Absolutely not!”

Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg sat in a line on the edge of the sparring range, well out of the way, as the Lady Sif took out her frustrations on a line of animated practice dummies. Stuffing flew indiscriminately from her double-edged sword like especially fluffy clouds of blood. “It is insane! Arranged marriages!”

“They’re not completely unheard of, Sif,” Fandral offered, ducking as she turned to glare at him, “especially among the nobility.”

“Oh?” her voice was icy. “And you can think of one that’s happened in our lifetime?”

“Well…no,” he confessed. “But really, in the grand scheme of things, are we so old?” He smiled winningly. She threw her shield at him with such force that he scrambled away in order to keep his head attached to his body.

“I am not some pretty bauble to be given away for the convenience of the crown!” Sif seethed. “And _especially_ not to _Loki_!” She whirled, and her proud mane of black hair moved with her, a swirl of color.

Thor winced. That hair had been golden, once, before his brother – he refused to let the appellation go, five centuries or no- had practiced his magic on her in a fit of pique. Thor had never been clear on what Loki’d been so upset about, but there was no denying that he had successfully changed her golden hair to black, and then been unable to fix it. It was one of Loki’s rare failures in developing his powers, and he had paid dearly for it in the practice ring.

“That was nearly…what? Eight hundred years ago!” Volstagg offered. “I’m sure he’s grown up since then.”

The final dummy standing was neatly vivisected. “He’s a frost giant, Volstagg. He’s not even Aesir. He was never one of us. It was all a lie, and I will not have any part of it!”

Thor, usually eager to defend his once-brother, continued silent. The news of Sif’s arranged union had arrived only that morning, with the addendum that a contingent from Asgard would be expected at Jotunheim in one week’s time, including the reluctant bride. He knew he should focus on Sif’s fury, but all he could think of was Loki. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the long-missed face of the boy he’d known as his twin – the delicate features, green eyes, sarcastic smile, the inky darkness of his hair. The details hadn’t dimmed in the centuries apart, despite the Jotun’s refusal to allow contact with their returned heir and Odin’s striking of Loki from all their family portraits. Thor knew Loki’s face as well as his own, and he ached to see his brother again.

Volstagg shot a look at Thor, and then said with unaccustomed gentleness, “Loki didn’t know that. No one was more shocked than he when we all learned the truth.”

“Yes, well, if you think it’s pure chance that I’m the one stuck with this injustice, you’ve forgotten that silver tongue of his!”

Thor finally looked up, frowning. “Loki wouldn’t want to marry you any more than you wish to marry him,” he said. “Why would he drag you into this?”

“Because he’s a liar and a snake,” Sif replied crisply, which Thor had to admit to be true both figuratively and, in certain situations, literally, though he still thought her accusation unjust.

“Yes, but Loki always supported you as a warrior,” Fandral reminded her. “Hel, when we were tiny, he and Thor played at being Valkyries.” He grinned at the memory. “I don’t think he’d treat women like chattel. More likely, he’s been bound up in this as you have, as a matter of the safety of two kingdoms.”

Thor shot his friend a thankful glance. Sif sighed mightily and threw herself to the dirt of the ring, sweating and disheveled. “If he knows what’s good for him,” she muttered, “he’ll be working on a plan to get out of this.”

Thor grinned finally, straightening his shoulders. “True! He will, won’t he?” His eyes practically sparkled. “But listen,” he added, as if they didn’t know, “after you go there, he’ll come _here_ for a while. Loki’s coming _home_!”

His friends exchanged looks. No one cared to put their shared thoughts into words: that Loki, taken from them so suddenly after being told his entire life was a lie, could hardly be expected to be the sly, playful, increasingly chaotic boy of Thor’s youth. They had been close once, but there had been no word since Loki left with his birth family. If Loki, of all people, wanted to get a message back to Thor, it would have come. 

But no one had the heart to say as much to Thor, who had hurt for so long after the loss of his brother.

Thankfully, Hogan’s voice interrupted before the silence became too awkward. “Thor, Sif, the king and queen request your presence.”

Thor leapt to his feet, then held a hand out to Sif, who took it and let him haul her to hers. “What about?” he asked.

Hogan raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t informed, but I believe assumptions can be made, considering they asked for both of you.” He turned and half-bowed sarcastically. “Allow me to escort you to the main hall Prince and Lady.”

“In case you get lost!” Fandral called after them. “Daydreaming about giant frost babies!”

Sif’s wrist guard hit him square in the mouth, as he deserved.

\---------------

_Dear Brother,_

_There is unrest in Alfheim, and so I am here with the army. Father has declared our friends Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral as “the Warriors Three” and they stand at my side. This is no war, but merely a skirmish, but I will prove myself on the field, and bring peace to all our peoples. Mjolnir sings to me of battle, and I know we will persevere under Father’s leadership._

_Are you still angry with him, I wonder? You can hold a grudge, and this one is well-deserved. Some days I am so furious that I cannot look at him, but on others I believe he did what he thought was best. Does it matter? The end result was a lie that ended with you angry at us all._

_Are you angry at me, Loki? Or have you stricken me from your thoughts? I would not do so, even if I could. You visit my dreams and I wish it was truly you._

_I must to battle. May you be well and learning all your mind wishes to know._

_Thor_

_\-----_

_Punishment for sneaking away in the night in Jotunheim is not so different from Asgard, though they don’t have Frigga to make me feel guilty for my actions. Farbauti tries. She is a kind woman, in her way, and feels genuine affection for the son I would have been, had she raised me. But I am her son in blood but no one’s in love. I do not do well trapped in one place. Asgard has her secret paths; Jotunheim must as well._

_They caught me only five weeks away, but I have seen more of this land than ever before. I have seen the mountains and frozen streams, the lights that brighten the sky, thin animals and people who are always hungry because Odin holds their casket and their lives in uncaring hands. I was raised to believe him a benevolent god, but no man of conscience would leave children to live off bark and tree roots when he could provide more._

_Perhaps I am not the monster hidden in the house of Odin as I was taught._

_I saw glimmers on the horizon, a secret path. I will find a way to reach it someday. It is not so difficult to escape, once you find the routes. I have several others for use later, when I am not so carefully watched. They claim I will be under constant surveillance, as if I wasn’t before; there is no such thing. Guards become tired, complacent, and prisoners walk free of their gilded cages._

\-----

 

That night, Thor couldn’t sleep. 

Memories buffeted him, unstoppable. He had held on to every spare thought he had of his brother, had clung to them desperately and, despite a general distaste for writing, had recorded a number of them into books now hidden in his rooms. He’d learned that he was no artist when he tried to sketch out Loki’s face, and deeply regretted that when Odin, a mere hundred years after Loki’s return to Jotunheim, had artists come in and remove the second prince from the murals over the main hall.

Odin tried to erase Loki, and with him, his own sins; but quietly, in secret, Thor and Frigga kept his memory alive. They spoke of him when they ate together, traded stories of Loki’s quick wit and mischievous nature, the way he always knew the secrets that spread throughout the capital. Frigga talked about training Loki in her own fighting style, and in the use of his seiðr, how she had never had before or since a pupil with so sharp a mind, such curiosity. She wept, and Thor took her hands, and she took herself bitterly to task for not telling her beloved sons the truth, so that Loki left believing he wasn’t loved.

Thor knew his mother wouldn’t be sleeping this night, but he chose not to disturb her. His heart ached for Loki in a way different from hers. She was his mother, but also his betrayer, agreeing to Odin’s lies. There was guilt in her sadness. But for Thor, the loss of Loki had been a loss of trust in his parents, which had been delicately repaired in the intervening centuries, but also of a brother he considered part of himself. 

Loki was found only days before Thor was born, and they had believed until that terrible day that they were twins, remarkably different but inevitably entwined. Frigga, especially, had emphasized the ways in which their differences complemented each other. “You are truly blessed,” she’d told Thor after one of his spats with Loki in their adolescence. “When you are king, there will be one person you can always trust to tell you the truth. Most kings must wait until deep into their rule for that boon, but you will have it from the beginning.”

In truth, Thor had always assumed he would find a way to rule with Loki at his side, rather than as just his heir. He hadn’t bothered to imagine life without his difficult, contrary, loving, infuriating, brilliant brother, not until the day his entire world fell apart.

His heart ached. If all went as planned, Sif would be marrying Loki, would move to Jotunheim and see him every day. It was irrational, but he felt the curl of jealousy in his chest. It was an unfamiliar emotion; he was spoiled and beloved, surrounded by friends and heir to the throne, what had he to covet? And something his friend didn’t want, but instead was forced to take?

His feet took him to the Bifrost, to sleepless Heimdall overseeing the worlds. He came to a stop beside the most trusted man in all of Asgard, and they shared the silence of deep night for several minutes. 

“You come to ask me of Laufey’s youngest son,” Heimdall said. It was not phrased as a question. 

Thor didn’t try to lie. Weaving tales was not one of his talents. “Yes. I thought, perhaps, with the new circumstances, you might be willing to reinterpret Father’s rules.”

Thor had asked after his lost brother many times over the years. Heimdall had always refused, citing the All-Father’s order that separation be maintained between Loki’s former life and his new one. “Reinterpret?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “How exactly would that work, Prince?”

“Well, I’d like to ask how Lady Sif’s betrothed is doing,” Thor said innocently, “to better prepare her for meeting him. She’s very nervous about their meeting, if nervous is a good synonym for furious.”

“I see.” The golden eyes crinkled a bit at the corners with a hidden smile. “And she didn’t come to ask herself due to…?”

“Maidenly good manners?” His voice, unused to falsehood, transformed the lie into a question.

Heimdall laughed then, a quick bark of sound. “Oh, prince. You will never have Loki’s silver tongue. But very well. I will tell you what I see, for a concerned friend of an unwilling bride.

“Her betrothed does not sleep well this night. Like you, he paces. He has made attempts to halt the marriage, but he understands the political ramifications of it. He has been a prince to two kingdoms. There is little freedom in that. He accepts his fate yet sleep eludes him.”

Thor tried to imagine Loki, the blue skin and horns he had seen only briefly, moving through his rooms in Jotunheim, but he had no true concept of the place beyond a vague image of endless ice. He took a slow breath. “Does he-has he ever-does he think of us?”

Heimdall paused. His answer would reveal a great deal about whether or not he has followed the letter of Odin’s ruling and kept his gaze elsewhere, but Heimdall had been fond of Loki and his endless questions when they were boys. “It is easier to accept new circumstances if your heart is hardened to longing for the old,” he said carefully. “And Jotunheim is not like Asgard. Until recently, it was a world scrabbling to survive. A prince of that realm must focus on the good of his people.”

Disappointment spiked in Thor’s chest, but he nodded quiet agreement. It made sense. Thor would have wallowed in emotions; Loki would take a more pragmatic approach. 

Heimdall spoke once more. “He is strong, and clever, and his magic has only grown. His bearer and his brother are fond of him. His sire comes to trust his wisdom. Yet despite this, he is often alone. He is a son of two worlds, who belongs to neither.” He didn’t look at Thor. “He deserves someone to stand beside him.”

Thor nodded, rubbing moisture from his eyes. He hoped Sif could be that person. “Good night, Heimdall,” he said as he turned away.

“Rest well, Prince,” the watcher answered.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor knew his mother wanted desperately to go to Jotunheim. She had mourned bitterly when Loki was sent away, both because of her closeness to him and because he had refused to say a word to her during those last two days for her part in lying to him about his true parentage. Odin forbade her from joining the household that would accompany Sif to her new homeland. “It would be too distracting, and a reminder of the past,” Odin said, and while both Thor and his mother knew the All-Father had a point and would not be convinced otherwise, Thor still hurt for his mother’s disappointment.

Thor was surprised to find that he _was_ a part of the delegation. 

Sif had no living family, her mothers having been killed when she was only a babe in arms, and so she had come into the care of the royal family. While not adopted, she was placed in the care of trusted retainers until she was old enough to take on her role as Lady. It was traditional, however, for a bride to be accompanied by family to ensure she was treated well and to finalize any agreements. Odin surprised them both by granting the role to Thor. 

“You’re younger than me,” she muttered as they made their way to the Bifrost, accompanied by the Warriors Three and a selection of maids and servants who would tend to Sif’s new household after the wedding took place – if it did; Sif was certainly determined that it wouldn’t, and was only behaving herself thus far because of her deep loyalty to Odin. “And now you’re supposed to pretend you’re my father?”

Thor shrugged. “It gets me there without making a diplomatic incident of it. Otherwise, I couldn’t come until the wedding day.” He smiled a little and bumped her shoulder with his own. “You know you’re thrilled to have me and Fandral along.”

Sif sighed and shook her head, though secretly she was glad to have her friends on her side. She had never traveled to Jotunheim – none of them had, as part of the treaties – and a part of her still remembered the horrible tales of monsters that were told in her youth. 

And now she was to marry one. 

She shuddered. She wasn’t afraid so much as furious, but Thor’s poorly hidden excitement at seeing his long lost brother lightened her heart. If nothing else, Loki wasn’t a complete unknown, and he certainly didn’t kill children or eat raw meat dripping with blood or any of the other tales that had kept her awake at night. 

Fandral directed her household, lining everyone up for the Bifrost. Along with servants, a diplomatic advisor, Thor, and Fandral, Sif had been given trunks of gifts for the Jotun and luxurious, fur-lined gowns for herself. After centuries in trousers, fighting in the muck with the soldiers, it had been no small feat to get her into one of them for the trip over. 

“If we get attacked, I’ll be murdered by my own clothes,” she said crossly, shifting the heavy skirts with an expression of disgust. “At least the two of you get to wear armor.”

Fandral tugged at his exquisitely polished golden halberd. “Ceremonial armor,” he said, “and blunted weapons. Just remember to keep your hands to yourselves, lest you be burned.”

“Loki won’t attack us,” Thor assured him, “we’re perfectly safe.”

Sif let out an unladylike snort. “Loki started stabbing you when you were _eight_ , remember? Forgive me if I’m not comforted.”

“To be fair,” Thor whispered as the All Father stepped forward, “he did heal the stabbings.”

“Also to be fair,” Fandral hissed, “he would have _loved_ burning skin.”

There were speeches, of course, and playfully worried farewells from Hogan and Volstagg, directions from Heimdall, and then, for the first time in centuries, a full party of Aesir stepped into the Bifrost and reappeared in the land of the First Giants. 

\--------  
_Brother,_

_Father is packing to go to Jotunheim. He’s taking the Casket so that it can be used and then returned here. I asked to go with him, to better understand the politics, but of course he turned me down. He’s leaving Mother as regent, so she can’t go either. I don’t understand why he’s so determined to keep up apart. What does he think I’ll do? Wrap you in my cloak and kidnap you? I only want to see you, talk to you. I miss you. I don’t want to kidnap you again. _

_Mother is angry, too. She still weeps when she thinks no one sees, under the willow in her garden where the two of you used to sit._

_I wish I was brave enough to disobey. I wish I would find your paths and just-_

_I am a coward._

_You were always the brave one._

_Thor_

_\-----------_

_I have books and a Vanir tutor, and the ice comes more easily. Farbauti has seen to it that I have clothing deserving of a Jotun prince. I have been unkind to her. She and Byleistr try to reach to me. I don’t want to reach back. I haven’t been taught to trust family indiscriminately. But I am in need of allies, and they are good-hearted._

_Odin is coming. He is bringing the Casket. I am to be there, to see how the casket it used. Only Laufey has experience, and he wants Byleister and myself to learn. I’ve prepared my own magic to help regulate the casket’s flow. I hope it will give us more control over the power we receive, so that it might not have to all be poured out at once. Odin will look a great hero for letting the Jotunn have proper seasons and food for a few years. I intend to make it last longer._

_Laufey is, as always, uncertain. He continues to look at my size over my abilities. I will prove he has underestimated me, as Odin did. As everyone does._

\-------

Jotunheim, or at least the great central city, had been specially prepared for the arrival of the Asgardians. 

Fresh fallen snow covered the walkways and forests that had recovered over the last few centuries since Odin began allowing limited use of the Casket. A soft, fluffy snow fell gently from the sky, and a perfect path had been cut by a single sleigh from the Bifrost site to the main palace, rising stark and silver against the bright blue sky. Most important, hardy winter flowers and berries poked up here and there in great batches, sweet flashes of blue, red an green among the snow. It was beautiful, a far cry from the wasteland Loki had first arrived at as a young man, frightened and grieving but determined to show neither emotion. It was also a carefully orchestrated picture, born of hard work and careful use of what power the Jotun had available at just the right moment. 

It was pure propaganda, and of course it had been Loki’s idea. 

Loki stood with five palace guards in the shelter erected near the Bifrost site. They were all on the shorter side, in an obvious attempt to lessen the impact of his own small stature. Not that he would be small to the Asgardians, he reminded himself. His build was narrow, yes, but his height was tall among the Aesir. But he supposed it would look ridiculous for his guards to be three to four feet taller than him. None were dweorh, as he was, but they were each only between seven and eight feet tall to Loki’s 6 feet and 2 precious inches. 

Loki sighed and put such thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time. He had been trusted to greet the Lady Sif’s household on his own, as the Jotun most familiar with Asgardian custom, and as her future partner. They would be met by his family at the formal dinner in the palace. His dress was an unusual combination of simple Jotun design with the colors he had taken as his own at his coming of age in Asgard-green slacks, green and gold boots, the delicate criss-cross of leather that made his shirt, the warm green cloak, fur-lined, embroidered in golden thread, and the heavy golden plates across his clavicle that identified him as being of high station. 

His jewelry did as well, of course, but less so. 

Most unusual was the mesh of spelled cloth he wore over all bare skin, even his hands, to protect the Asgardians if they came into contact with him. It was light and breathed, but it still felt odd to be so completely covered. He’d grown used to the light simplicity of Jotun clothing.

“It’s time,” one of the guards rumbled. Loki raised a hand to them. 

“Remember to stay back and remain calm,” he said. “We don’t expect any violence.”

They muttered under their breath, but remained in formation as the intense power and brightness of the Bifrost snapped into being in front of them, and Lady Sif stepped through. 

She looked different, older of course, but Loki immediately recognized the fall of black hair. Ah, yes. The reason she hated him, though he maintained personally that it was a better look for her. He knew the counterspell for that now. His plan was to introduce it on the third night.

She strode with a purpose that didn’t match the delicate material of her skirts, and she held a hand to her side to grab a blade that wasn’t there. She looked tense and uncomfortable. Behind her came the expected household: eight servants, an older woman who must be the etiquette master, one soldier - surely that was not Fandral? He’d been years yet from adulthood when Loki left - and-oh good lord. It could not be.

Thor Odinson’s face split into a wide grin as he stepped through the Bifrost, his heavy boots crunching on the snow. He had filled out immensely, muscle across his chest and arms, a thick waist, his blond hair long and wild, even in his ceremonial armor. Even as the Lady Sif stepped forward, jaw tight but a look of determination to Behave Properly on her face, the prince of Asgard stomped right around her and, in defiance of every rule of courtly behavior, threw his arms around Loki with enough force to pull him to his toes, despite being nearly of a height. “Brother!” he roared happily. “I have _missed_ you.”

In a moment, Loki was utterly overcome by twin waves of complete exasperation and a bone-deep affection that briefly stole his breath away. Thor smelled the same, all crisp wind and comforting wood fire, and his voice was as welcoming and obnoxious as ever. For no more than two seconds, Loki closed his eyes at the sense of searing heat, despite the spelled cloth separating them, and at emotions he had held at bay for so long. 

And then, he neatly set them aside and said, voice lightly rebuking, “Prince Thor, this is not the customary greeting between royal families.”

Thor let go with clear reluctance, but barely stepped away, his hands still on Loki’s shoulders. Those unnecessarily blue eyes flicked over Loki’s face, clearly tracing his heritage lines and over his horns, arcing much like his former helmet had and decorated with slender braids of silver and gold. “You look . . .” his voice sounded oddly rough, and Loki forbade himself to blush or respond in any other way. He was used to hiding in the shadows, not this focused attention, “You look well. Strong.”

“Yes.” His heart pounded, but nothing showed on his face as he caught Thor’s wrists in gloved hands and lowered them. “Welcome to Jotunheim, Prince Thor, though my first welcome should be for . . .” he nodded over Thor’s shoulder.

Thor did blush a little, actually hopping to the side with an apologetic grin. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.” His eyes didn’t waver an inch.

Loki nodded and turned to the Lady Sif. He bowed to the exact level demanded of a prince of a lesser kingdom to a Lady of a greater kingdom. In his arms he held another beautifully made cloak, in green and silver with white fur, a combination of his colors and hers. By Asgardian tradition, she should have been dressed in his green and gold, but what he remembered of Sif was not a woman willing to set aside her identity for someone else. Laufey, who once ignored Loki’s input out of hand, had listened in this instance of welcoming his Asgardian bride. “Welcome, Lady Sif of Asgard, to Jotunheim. I am Loki Laufeyson,” he saw Thor visibly wince at this, and hid a sigh; why had he been brought along at all, if he hadn’t learned to control his expressions?, “Prince of Jotunheim. It is my honor to escort you to the Palace. To that end, my bearer Consort Farbauti, sends this gift.” He released the cloak with dramatic flourish. It fell in rich folds, the white fur fluttering gently in the wind as the light caught the gold and silver threads.

Sif hesitated a moment, touching the hood of her own thick Asgardian coat, but she had more sense than Thor. She motioned to Fandral, who helped her remove it, and then stepped forward to allow Loki to sweep the cloak around her, sliding the pins into place. For the first time, she met his eyes. “Thank you, Lo-your highness.”

She was nervous or furious, he thought perhaps both, and he offered her a small smile, hidden away from his guards. “Of course, Lady Sif.” She pulled up the hood as he stepped back. “Shall we? I will escort you to your quarters, so you can freshen up before the official banquet.”

She took a steadying breath, lifted her proud chin, and nodded. “Of course, your highness,” she answered, and together they walked through the soft snow, each step a crisp bite in the cold air. 

\-----

The moment Loki, relentlessly stiff and polite, disappeared out the door to the palace hallways, one voice broke the silence.

“Hels,” Fandral said in a soft, awed tone. “If you don’t want him, count _me_ in!”

“Fandral!” both Sif and Thor snapped, but giggles spread throughout the party as the servants and ladies went to work, moving about the cozy apartments that had clearly been built and furnished with Asgardians in mind. The etiquette mistress heaved a sigh. 

“It could have gone worse,” she said tiredly, “but Prince Thor, you must behave yourself! You are here to act as a guardian to Lady Sif, not to go out for drinks with old friends.”

Thor looked mortally offended. “Loki is not an old friend, lady. He is my brother.”

“Something you’ve been told _not_ to call him,” Sif said almost gently, “repeatedly.”

“And you!” the mistress turned on Fandral. “You will keep that flirtatious tongue of yours silent!”

Fandral lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, my lady. Always, my lady. I was only pointing out that Loki has become incredibly _beautiful_ , my lady.”

Undaunted, she grabbed him by the ear and tugged him off. She couldn’t do that to Prince Thor, or even to Lady Sif, but the mistress of etiquette happened to be Fandral’s beloved and overbearing grandmother.

“He does look well,” Sif offered, smacking Thor’s hands sharply when he tried to remove her cloak for her. “None of that. Loki had to, for appearance’s sake; you don’t.” One of her lady’s maids hurried forward and gathered it up carefully to hang, commenting on the fine workmanship of the cloth, fur, and embroidery. It was beautiful, and amazingly warm. “He always was clever at learning protocol and anything else he put his mind to.” She flashed a grin. “He just usually chose to ignore it.”

Thor gave half a smile in response. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected an exuberant welcome; exuberance was not a part of Loki’s nature. Loki whispered when Thor shouted, considered where Thor stumbled. But he had hoped for…

He sighed softly. 

He had hoped Loki had missed him as much as he had missed Loki, all these long years. But Loki had acted as if they barely knew each other. And he’d been so formal, with no hint of mischief hidden in his eyes. 

Thor didn’t like it.

Sif squeezed his wrist. “I have to change into the dinner dress. Remember you’ll be seated at the table as my,” she raised her hands with intense sarcasm to outline the word, “‘father,’ so you’ll need to take off some layers as well.” She looked around. “I would assume your room is through there. It connects but also has the strongest lock, in case you can’t control yourself in the night and come lurching in here to steal my frilly underthings.”

Thor snorted. “I’ve seen your underthings, Sif. There’s not a frill in sight.”

“If only that was true,” she sighed as they parted ways. “I don’t think there’s a single handkerchief in these trunks I would have chosen myself.”

Thor watched her go before walking into the connecting suite he and Fandral would share. It, too, was designed for Asgardians - a full grown giant would brush their head on the ceiling, and everything would be too small to sit in comfortably. It was plush and inviting for the visitors however, and surprisingly warm. Thor pulled off a few pieces of his ceremonial armor and set Mjolnir by the bed in the western room. The Jotun liked straight lines, crystal and stone. It was very simple by the standards of his people, but something about it appealed to Thor. It reminded him of Loki. Seemingly delicate, but actually-

Thor groaned and sat on the bed. 

Fandral was right about one thing: Loki was breathtaking.

“You’re an idiot, Son of Odin,” he muttered. “You’ve built this moment in your head so long it’s practically a fairy tale romance.” He flopped back dramatically, hair spreading across the furs. “Do not fall in love with your brother _again_ ,” he told himself sternly, giving voice to a secret so ancient that it felt written in his bones.

His heart, ever willful, paid him no mind at all.

\-----------

_Brother,_

_Father is home from Jotunheim. He refuses to speak of what happened there. Did you see him? Did he see you? Did you pull some clever trick that made him angry? I hope so. He certainly deserves it. I try to be an obedient son and a proper prince, but there are days I wish I had your cleverness to make him pay some little bit for the last three hundred years._

_I do not trust him, for all that I can see now he treated me as a favorite, or perhaps because of that. I don’t know how to regain this trust. Can I love him if I don’t trust him? Mother lied to you as well, but I’ve seen how heartbroken she is without you. She truly believed you were abandoned. She truly believed you were meant to be hers. She misses you. She ages without you here to share her magic and her thoughts. She is lonely. I try to be a companion to her, but it’s not the same._

_But I trust her._

_I promise I don’t sit around moping over you all day, every day. I’m just angry and jealous at the moment. You’d be pleased, wouldn’t you?_

_Thor_

_\------_

_It worked._

_It worked and I accomplished it. My magic, my spell, my concept. I have trapped magic from the Casket and we will now be able to use it more effectively. Or, I shall be able to. Only I can access the pocket I created to house it._

_For the first time, Laufey and his advisors see me with new eyes. As they should._

\-----

State dinners were much alike in all of the realms: careful seating, boring conversations, long speeches, and carefully controlled access to spirits. Each planet personalized their dinners primarily through dress and food, tantalizing guests with only the best of local dishes. 

Even with the use of the Casket every century, the dinner to greet Lady Sif and her entourage to Jotunheim Palace was decidedly lean by Asgardian standards. Despite their height, the Jotunn were a trimly muscled people, and their growing season, while incredibly fruitful, was also extremely short. Yet from Loki’s perspective and that of the rest of the Jotun in attendance, the amount of food and delicacies on display was exorbitant. Delicate fish and roe, seal meat, berries and seaweed, imported fruit, and the exquisitely cooked meat of a young whale were followed by cold creams with a variety of flavors to choose from. The Jotun in attendance took relatively small portions for their size, a millennium of hardship shaping rules of conduct that prohibited perceived gluttony even among the more powerful families. 

When he saw the portions Sif, Fandral, and especially Thor were taking, Loki was glad he’d thought to warn everyone ahead of time that in Asgard, second helpings were considered a compliment to the host.

A special table had been set up in the great hall, lifted a bit on risers, for Loki and their guests. Usually, he preferred to eat alone in his rooms or with the royal family, but of course this was all about creating a public image, so here he found himself, the center of everyone’s attention for the first time in centuries. He wore the traditional trousers and moccasins for indoors, along with the flat gold necklaces and armguards of a prince. His traditional costume differed only in the thin mesh of blue fabric, dyed as closely as possible to his own skin tone. The Asgardians were still in thick clothing and coats, their bodies not made for the constant cold. 

It went as well as could be expected. He and Lady Sif held a stilted conversation that managed not to reference the fact that they’d known each other as children, Thor was unusually quiet but very complimentary of the food, Fandral managed not to ask too many inappropriate questions about Jotun sexes and genders, and Loki spent most of his time explaining what everyone was eating. 

When it was all done, his head was pounding, his back aching, and all he wanted to do was escape for the evening. Blessedly, there was no dancing or performances as there would have been in Asgard or Vanaheim on the first night of a state visit, only warm drinks and some standing about talking.

“Loki.”

Loki took a slow breath and ran his fingertips over his eyes, pouring a touch of his own siedr there to soothe the ache. Then he turned to face Thor. 

“Thor.”

Thor’s smile was a rare one, or had been when they knew each other, more shy than cocky. He looked tall and broad in his Asgardian best, his red cloak fur-lined. His hair was long now, his beard well-trimmed but thick. Someone had taken a comb to it. He looked every inch the Prince of Asgard. 

Loki, with his small stature, could only claim to dress his part. 

“It’s good to see you,” Thor said. “It’s been . . .” his voice trailed off lamely.

“A long time?” Loki asked, arching an eyebrow and taking a sip of his drink. Flustering people was a favorite past time of his; they revealed so much about themselves, little secrets they gave away from being off-balance. Centuries before, Thor was the first he practiced on, though he’d never been much of a challenge.

Thor looked down. “Yes. Too long.” There were obviously a million questions on his tongue; he was still as easily read as ever. Had Odin done nothing to improve his son’ poker face? Loki hadn’t spoken to the man in a thousand years, and he could smoothly list every thought in Thor’s mind. It had been too long. Had Loki wanted to write? He’d wanted to. Was Loki happy? What was it like, being a Frost Giant? What was-

Aloud, Thor only said, “I am hoping I might spend some time with you while I’m here. Of course, I know it’s Sif you’ll want to see, but I hoped maybe...a...lunch or two?” He looked up, blue eyes guileless and hopeful. 

_Still used to getting what you want, I see._ “The schedule for your stay here is quite full, but there are rest times built in. I’m sure something could be arranged.” His earrings tinkled softly as he tilted his head. “We only learned yesterday that you would be playing the part of guardian. You’re a very . . . young choice.” His voice expertly implied more than youth as an impediment, and he saw Thor’s eyes narrow. Good. He’d learned what sarcasm was. “There are certain meetings you’ll be expected to attend, and you are one of the approved chaperones when lady Sif and I are together.”

“I’m honored to serve,” Thor said, and then he grinned, all confidence and sunshine through the rain. “Though, if you make her angry, she’ll be the one fighting you, not me. I’m properly terrified of her.”

Loki’s darkened lips curved slightly. “A modern Valkyrie?” A flash of memory, two small boys determined to be Valkyries when they grew up, went through his mind. Thor had procured branches and Loki had transformed them into wooden weapons before they took off on their goats to save Asgard from-well. From Loki.

“As close as we will ever have,” Thor said, somewhat regretfully. He took a breath, expression serious. “Loki, is this wedding something you-”

Loki put a finger over his own lips, eyes narrow and dark. “Watch your tongue,” he murmured. “Ears listen and information can be bought.” 

He watched Thor’s free hand, opening and closing in frustration. Still so impatient. It seemed the stories of his foolhardy escapades might be true. “Is there no place for a _private_ conversation?” he grumbled, which was as close to a whisper as his booming voice ever managed.

Loki shook his head, noting how Thor’s eyes flickered from his ears to his horns, then back to his face. Loki had always been fond of jewelry; one of the few things he’d loved immediately when he came to Jotunheim was the popularity of jewels for everyone, regardless of sex or gender. “Not now, son of Odin,” he said, almost gently. “Certainly not here.” He swept a hand to the side, motioning to everyone in attendance. 

Thor’s jaw tightened. “You know my _name_ , Loki.”

“And you know you are not here for your own enjoyment,” Loki shot back sharply, ignoring the flash of loneliness and pain at the need to do so. “You are not here to catch up with someone you knew so long ago that he might as well be a stranger. You are here as the Prince of Asgard and guardian to the Lady Sif, who is being offered in marriage to Jotunheim.” Each word was emphasized. “You are here to further peace for our kingdoms and to ensure that the Jotunn get back their Casket. And so you _will_ refer to me as Prince or Laufeyson, and I shall do the same to you.” 

Thor scowled, an angry brat not used to being denied the best of everything. Oh, Loki remembered that face well. “We aren’t strangers! You can’t just forget the first 500 years of our lives as a matter of political convenience!”

“I can.” His voice was cold. Any other emotion he froze out of himself. Why had they sent Thor? What was the purpose? What plot did the Allfather have in mind? “And I have.” He set down his cup with a click on the table. “You do not know me, Prince of Asgard. You never did. Our history is a lie and it means _nothing_.” Thor flinched, and Loki brushed away ancient hurt and replaced it with a sly sense of satisfaction. “I am Helbindi, Prince of Jotunheim, and Asgard was a prison that is now a means to an end.” He turned, dismissing Thor without words, and strode to where his true brother was talking to the Lady Sif.

He didn’t look back. 

Thor was hurt. Well and truly. And despite everything, Loki sensed that he would be as weak to Thor’s pain as he had been, all those years ago, when he wove bedtime stories and healed scraped knees with gentle magic. 

So he didn’t look back.

\----

_Brother,_

_Today is our birthday. Or, mine. It still feels so strange that we weren’t born together. Your birthday was six days ago, wasn’t it?_

_Since this is a centennial birth year, we’ve had to do the entire formal dance/gathering/whatnot. I still hate these things. It’s all uncomfortable clothes and smiling at people you don’t remember and “Oh my, the last time I saw you you were just THIS high!” My friends aren’t allowed at the high table, so I have no one to trade barbs about the guests with. Well, Mother occasionally. She had a few ripe ones for the Hullands. Do you remember them? They gave us that ceremonial egg for our 400th that turned out to be rotten and stank up the entire palace._

_Don’t think I didn’t realize you kept some and that was the mysterious odor that ended the great triathlon I was about to win when everyone had to get inside to avoid being sick in the bleachers._

_Everyone is making noises about how sweet Sif and I would be together, and wouldn’t she make a wonderful queen? As if she’d have me. We’re friends, not lovers. ~~I’ve only been in love once, and~~_

_I miss you. Happy birthday, Loki._

_Thor_

_\------_

_They celebrated my birthday while I was missing. It was part of a day of mourning for all those lost during the war. My first year here, it was changed to a celebration of life. Hundreds of years later, it’s still disconcerting to see baby effigies of myself being flown as a symbol of Jotun pride. Farbauti says they are fairly accurate, except my eyes were purple, like most newborns._

_There was a small painting Frigga kept in her rooms at Asgard. It was of me and Thor as toddlers, looking very serious in matching dresses. We look nothing alike. Beside the picture she keeps sketches the artist did – in those, we are pulling each other’s hair, kissing each other’s cheeks; there’s one, I remember, where I’m bashing Thor over the head with a stuffed Sleipnir. It is the sketches she loved, not the painting._

_I wish I had brought one with me._

 

When Loki was a boy, he dealt with his fits of anger by breaking things. Before he knew how to best use his seiðr, he would knock off plates, throw toys; once, in a fit of childish rage, he tore a book in half, shocked and dismayed at his own sudden strength. As Frigga took him under her wing and taught him arts better known to women of Vanaheim than to princes of Asgard, he learned to destroy with magic and then piece back together, or to hide destruction in illusion. 

Alone in his rooms in the palace, Loki’s calm cracked. With a sweep of his arm, the stone teaset on his breakfast table crashed to the floor, slamming and clattering across the wood and onto the carpet. It didn’t erase Thor’s disappointment from his memory, nor did it wipe away the joy he’d felt, so rare, when he met the man who was not his twin at the Bifrost, when Thor ignored all etiquette and all but twirled him through the air.

“Bindi.”

Loki closed his eyes at the sound of Farbauti’s voice beyond his door even as the waved his hands to return the set to rights. “Yes.” The door opened at another motion.

Farbauti’s soft laughter was warming. “Thank you, my dear.” Seiðr appeared around her, an icy violet, and within three steps she was of his height. 

Ice was not Loki’s only innate ability; changing form had not come to him from nowhere, though Farbauti’s abilities were much simpler. The use of any magic not born of ice was viewed with a certain suspicion in Jotunheim, and so she could only change her height. It had been Farbauti who assisted Loki, as best she could, in finding and keeping his natural form. It had been the beginning of a tentative connection and growing friendship, if not the love of a son to his mother as Farbauti had hoped. 

She approached Loki and stood beside him, staring out at the rolling countryside. “He is a kind young man.” 

Loki’s shoulders tightened. “I never said he wasn’t.”

“No. No, you never speak of him at all.”

“It is easier not to.”

Farbauti rested a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it away, though he rarely wanted to be touched. “You don’t have to hurt yourself,” she said, her low voice musical. Jotun voices, when not at war, were a symphony. “Prince Thor did no wrong by you, and he wishes your friendship.”

Something pressed at the back of Loki’s throat, emotions he had put away. He didn’t want them back. “I choose to look forward,” he said. “Thor is the past. By arrangement, Sif is my future.”

“And she is Thor’s friend. Why can you not be as well? Why are you determined to be unhappy?” Her voice hurt, and Loki had no real answer for her. He and Thor were brothers, had been brothers, they fought and argued but in so many ways, Thor had been the warmest, brightest point in his life. And that vision was untarnished by the lies of Odin and Frigga. The last true good thing from his childhood, transformed from a golden memory to reality.

“I am not-”

“You deny yourself what is yours to take.” Farbauti sighed. She never understood him, none of them did, though they tried, and they cared. The closest anyone had ever come had been-

“It isn’t mine,” he said softly, “except to lose.” 

But he was a different person then.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR  
There was a routine to state visits, though it was new to the Jotunn, so long left alone to die on their frozen world. Breakfasts were followed by tours, lunches by meetings, Dinners by song. Loki had carefully planned the itinerary under Farbauti’s watchful eye; they both knew that Asgard saw them as savages, and it was important to prove that they weren’t. It was a charade, carefully orchestrated; though not without culture, the harshness of the last millennia has left relatively little time for writing music, plays, books. Art in Jotunheim must serve a purpose as well as being beautiful; cloaks with embroidery, the broad necklaces and bracers that served as light armor, tools that were finely carved to show love and affection. Music told stories or passed down tales, and the instruments had to be strong, to survive the cold. 

There was beauty in Jotunheim, and Loki had taken this opportunity to bring it to the capital. Laufey had little patience for the arts, but Loki had sent servants and letters throughout the small realm and found what he could. He, of course, had remained in the Palace. As always.

The first three days of the visit were long and exhausting, as Sif, with Fandral and Thor ever at her heels, were shown around the palace and grounds. Two attaches were assigned to them: one, a woman, barely over seven feet tall, and the other, neutrx, was only a few inches taller than Loki, as they were born into a family that carried the dwarfism that made Loki small. 

With each hour that slid by and turned into days made up of nothing other than polite exchanges, Thor grew more restless, and Sif was no better. Never purposefully impolite, they both struggled to pay attention. Thor bounced on his toes and Sif fidgeted incessantly with her skirts, cursing at them under her breath. Fandral fared better, his natural charm smoothing the way here and there, but even he shifted and sighed after the interminable storytelling on the third evening.

“Is it always this _boring_?” Sif whispered as she sipped the hot cider provided to their party. Her hair was in a graceful updo, but strands had escaped throughout the day as her restless hands fiddled with the combs.

Thor nodded. “It is typical,” he said, “though I am used to at least one night of dancing.” 

“We thought it best you didn’t,” came Loki’s smooth voice from behind them. “Too much chance of our people touching.” 

“Loki!” Thor couldn’t help the wide grin brought on by his brother’s presence. He’d seen little of Loki outside of meal times, as it was considered inappropriate for a prince to provide tours, even to his future bride. “Come, sit with us!” He shifted on the cushioned seat, set above a grate that sent up gentle waves of warmth. Sif kicked him, but he paid her no mind. Only Aesir-sized couches were placed near the vents. 

Loki tilted his head, and the jewels in his ears and on his horns tinkled softly. The movement was so familiar - Loki, considering whether to behave as a gentleman or a scamp - but in his true skin it felt new. “Very well.” With consummate grace, he folded himself beside Thor, as sitting directly beside Sif would be seen as too forward. He didn’t move like the other giants; he moved as he had in their youth. He moved like Frigga. Thor felt a flush of warmth. Yes, his Loki was still there, under the heritage marks and the cool manners. “I come with both an invitation and a gift.”

“Oh?” Sif asked, leaning forward a bit. Fandral, interested, drifted over as well. “Another tour?” she tried not to sound sarcastic. She failed.

Loki smiled, sharp at the edges. “No, though I’m certain you’re heartbroken to hear it. I have arranged for a hunt tomorrow. It is the right time of year to hunt in the forests, and Jotun are always pleased to have a break from the gifts of the sea.”

It wasn’t the first time Thor had noticed that Loki spoke of the Jotun as if he were not one of them. It made his chest ache. “A hunt?” Fandral asked, perking up even as Sif did. “A chance to be out in the bracing breezes?” He smiled, half bowing and meeting Loki’s gaze with flirtatious eyes. “Truly, my prince, this is what true romances are made of.”

Thor scowled. Sif laughed. Loki shook his head lightly, but his lips didn’t lose their curve. “Then perhaps I should rescind your invitation to join us, Warrior. Your charms will be too much for my attendants.”

Fandral parted his lips to speak but Thor trod roughshod over him. “What are we hunting, br-” he caught himself, “prince? What will we ride? We did not bring our horses.”

Loki met his eyes, cool and green. “Large game,” he said, “as befits warriors of Asgard.” Thor’s grin spread. “As to your mounts, there was some discussion. It is colder than your horses are used to, but our beasts are so much larger that it would be difficult for you to manage them.”

Thor laughed, finally feeling some adrenaline after days of quiet. “They are trained, aren’t they? Do you ask us to break them for you?”

“Mmmm, no. They are trained. But they are not what you’re used to-in fact, it would be a constant struggle to remain astride. No, we have allowed the passage of your personal horses, who will be provided with special gear to help them in the cold. We also use our hounds, of course.” 

“I have heard of these hounds of yours,” Fandral said. “They’re meant to be fierce fighters!”

“Naturally, though they are also loyal companions, and capable of pulling sleds better than many horses.” He set his drink on a side table. “Does this mean you accept my invitation? It extends, of course, to you, Lady Sif. Women here are not expected to stay home while others take part in blood sport.”

For the first time since her arrival, Sif offered up a sincere grin. “The Jotun are a wise people.”

Loki inclined his head. Every movement was so careful, so studied. Beautiful, but practiced. There was no joy in it. “Indeed, all peoples have their strengths.” He looked at Thor, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “And their faults.”

“Hey-” Thor begin, actually smiling at the jab instead of being properly insulted, but Loki was too fast for him. Before he could think of a comeback, the Jotun was on his feet and holding out a gloved hand to Sif. 

“If I may, my lady,” he said, “I do have a gift for you. There is a more private meeting room beside this one, if it meets with your approval.”

Sif heaved a sigh, not remotely subtle. “Very well. I know the groom is meant to give the bride gifts, but the beautiful cloak should be more than enough?” She motioned to Thor. “Come along, Father.”

“Yes, darling daughter,” Thor responded, pitching his voice even lower than normal. Loki let out a soft snort of amusement, and Thor walked on air for a few steps. 

The room was tucked to the side, seeming to serve no real purpose, though Thor knew just enough to realize that the staff probably had a logical use for it. The entry was open, so they were not completely cut off from the larger dining area; even with Thor around, that would have been frowned upon. “This is actually,” for some reason, Loki glanced at Thor before crossing his hands, moving them in a familiar pattern, “a personal gift.” The smallest flash of green, and a golden comb appeared, suspended between his palms. It was solidly made but beautifully engraved with images of the winter flowers they’d seen outside. 

Sif raised her eyebrows. “A comb.”

“Yes.”

“What,” she asked, taking it carefully, “does it actually stay in place, unlike the monstrosities in my hair now?”

“Mmm, not quite. If I may?” He held out his gloved hand and she laid the comb in it. They were standing close together, their voices hushed, an amused quirk to Loki’s lips that Thor hadn’t seen in more than a thousand years. 

Something ugly twisted in Thor’s gut, and he had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from snatching the gift away. The feeling was made only worse when a swirl of seidr gently floated the decorative combs from Sif’s hair and guided it to lie smoothly on her back. Sif laughed softly as the removed combs stacked themselves neatly in her cupped hands. Then Loki reached out and lifted a lock of her hair - hushing her softly when she started to jerk away - and ran the comb down from top to bottom. 

In the comb’s wake, the rich black transformed into strawberry-gold. 

Sif made a sound Thor would have thought impossible for her and grabbed for the comb. “Is it-will it stay this way?!” she demanded, already running it haphazardly through her hair. Lines and frizzles of blonde appeared in messy chaos.

Loki lifted his hands away. “Yes, it will.”

Sif paused for a minute, eyes shining. Then she threw back her hair, looked Loki in the eyes, and said, “About time. You are forgiven, Prince Loki.”

He smiled then, almost a flash of teeth, as Sif called for Fandral to “come and help me with this!” He arrived obediently, oohed and ahhed over the change, and started expertly separating her hair as if for braiding. He had long ago found this a skill that enchanted the ladies of his acquaintance. 

Thor, feeling the pink in his cheeks brought on by some childish combination of jealousy and bashfulness at Loki’s little smile, crossed his arms and whispered, “How long is that going to take? She has to comb every single hair?”

Loki’s eyes widened innocently. “Don’t Aesir enjoy having their hair brushed? You certainly did.”

Thor’s cheeks grew warmer, but he couldn’t keep from grinning. It was the first time Loki had mentioned their shared childhood. Loki had been young indeed when he took over caring for Thor’s hair, announcing that Thor was helpless at it. Any night Loki had decided it needed brushing out, Thor would sleep deeply and with great contentment. “But still, if it looks odd-”

“Oh it won’t.” A curve of his fingers, a twist of magic, and Sif’s hair began to change to gold, completely on its own. Now Thor finally got to see a flash of teeth. “But where’s the pageantry in that?” he asked airily before gliding out of the room. 

“Scamp!” Thor called after him, a flame of hope lighting in his stomach.

\------------

_Brother,_

_Volstagg has married! Do you remember him? He’s difficult to forget. He’s older than us, used to tell us stories when we sneaked down to the barracks. We’ve become great friends. His wife is a beauty, with a shared appetite, and he is impossible to live with. He has written her songs and poetry. They are expecting a child already. I believe you would like her. Hildegund has a sharp tongue and a warm smile. She reminds me of you. Or, I could just be waxing romantic myself._

_The accompanying feast was of epic proportions, as you might imagine._

_Thor  
\----_

_Byleister has been mated. Now they look at me. Farbauti wishes for me to have someone to make me happy; Laufey is more pragmatic, and wishes for an alliance. I would prefer not to marry at all. Certainly, my options are limited to the dweorh here, and none have proven compatible, and an alliance would at the least provide someone of similar stature, but I have spent enough of my life as a pawn moved across a chess board. I am trying to win Byleistr to my side, as crown prince. What does the royal family need with a child who is half dweorh Jotun and half something else? They would be seen as an embarrassment._

_I hear stories of Thor, the only part of my past I can’t completely shake. Despite waiting thousands of years to marry Frigga, Odin is apparently pressing for Thor to father children. Sensible enough; Odin is old, and Thor has no recognized heir. Thor has always liked children, or did when I knew him. He will be a better father than Odin._

\---------------------

The morning of the hunt dawned a bit overcast, but the pinks and blues of dawn shone bright, reflecting off the snow. It was comfortable to Loki, who briefly resented the need for his extra clothing to protect the Asgardians, but a bracing chill for the guests. 

The Asgardian’s horses tromped about, stamping their hooves and shaking their heads at the unfamiliar feeling of cloth on their backs that carried warming spells to last the length of the day. Thor greeted the finest horse, a white stallion (of course, as if Odin would allow anything else) with a hint of gold in his coat and mane. Sif, Fandral, and several of the Asgardian servants were there, each provided with horses; their own, if the animal could be led through the bifrost; a jotunn pony otherwise. Of the Jotunn, only the same relatively short guards and the dweorh neutrx Svaldin joined their party. Byleistr had wanted to join them, as he was an avid hunter himself, but the difference in the size of their mounts would have given an unfair advantage. 

Loki rode a beautiful blue dun mare, a pony by Jotunn standards. She whickered her greeting as he approached and lowered her head for petting before he moved to handle her tackle himself. Horses were not the preferred mode of transportation in Jotunheim, as their hooves tended to sink in the snow, and so he felt better taking care of Røkkr himself rather than leaving her to inexperienced stablehands. 

“She’s lovely,” Thor’s deep voice rolled as he approached, leading his great stallion, only a few hands taller than Røkkr. 

Loki slipped her a small apple and rubbed her nose. “She’s a fine girl,” he said fondly. He could have said more, about how Røkkr was his only link to freedom from a lifetime within the castle walls, but he chose not to. Instead, he tilted his head to Thor’s mount, clearly more warhorse than hunter. “He’ll handle the dogs?”

Thor’s laugh was a pleasant rumble. “Indeed! He has hunted and gone to war with dogs. He will watch his hooves.” 

Loki nodded, stepped aside, and swung himself into the saddle. He was much more simply dressed that day, his horns unadorned, only small, rough gold balls in his ears. He wore the warm boots, trousers, and shirt of Jotun out in the snow, with the one heavy gold bar of his office across his chest. 

Thor thought he looked breathtaking, and had to bite his cheek to keep from saying so aloud. 

The sound of joyful barking joined them moments later, and Sif called cheerfully as the thick coated hunting dogs ran toward them in a wild cloud of silvers and grays, their proud tails curved over their backs. These animals could hunt anything from rabbits to wild boar, fearless and smart. Today, they were looking for the large deer that would be more active in the warming weather, their fierce antlers and sharp hooves a danger to anyone who didn’t take care.

“Ready?” Loki called, as the head of the party. Sif gave a hunter’s call, her eyes shining and golden hair peeking from under her hood. She wore no skirt today, and was clearly the happier for it. Fandral called back, and then Thor, his roar like that of the great white bears in the north. 

Loki grinned to himself, shifting in the saddle. His excursions from the Palace were few and far between, and to be out now without even proper guards looking over his shoulder-

He patted Røkkr’s neck. “Are you ready to run, my dear?” he murmured. She tossed her head and he threw his back, letting out the hunting call of his childhood, the loud bark of the Aesir. Røkkr leapt forward, and the sound of scrambling behind him made him laugh aloud for the first time in too long.

He heard Thor’s roar about cheating, and Fandral’s laugh, and the grumbles of the guards, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he sent forth his magic, slipping into the woods, among the trees, and sought out their prey. 

\-------

Thor remembered hunts like this. 

He’d been young then, reckless, and for once, always on his brother’s heels. Loki had been the better rider, and no amount of tracking had a prayer of competing with Loki’s magic when it came to locating game. Loki, whose mood had darkened perceptively in those last hundred years in Asgard,stil came alive when they hunted, as long as it was just the two of them.

Sometimes, they would leave a week at a time, free of all guards and eyes save Heimdall’s. 

That day in Jotunheim, Thor heard Loki’s low chuckle for the first time in fifty years, and his answering grin sent a shiver of lightning down his spine. “We’ll show him,” he murmured to Fell, and the stallion took off with no thought to the rest of the party.

“Well,” Fandral said wryly, glancing at Sif, “ _this_ feels familiar.”

“Then you don’t want to waste time, do you?” she shot back, taking off after the princes. 

It was the best day of their visit. Within two hours they had taken down one of the huge gray deer that roamed the ancient woods, after a proper chase and a near gutting for Fandral, who underestimated the reach of the great antlers. It was Loki who felled it with a perfect strike from a long dagger thrown only with his own arm and eye. Sif finished it quickly, whispering a prayer as she ended its pain. 

“The kill is yours, Lady,” Loki offered, but she glared him down. 

“The kill is _yours_ , Prince,” she all but growled, tossing her proud head and grinning wolfishly. “The next shall be mine.” 

The words proved to be a prophecy. They left Svaldin and two guards to dress the kill and rode on, following Loki’s seidr until they found several does. Sif chose one that was so fair as to be blue-white, and they led her off. Sif, Fandral’s bow in hand, accepted both the kill and ownership of the pelt, when it was ready. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to sweat in this cold!” Fandral laughed as Thor built a fire and Sif prepared a choice slice of meat for their dinner. The remaining guards were preparing the doe for transport back to the palace. 

“Don’t take your coat off,” Loki advised him. “It will freeze. Keep the warmth you have, even if it feels like too much.” A lazy wave of his hand and Thor’s fire ignited, glowing green before settling to a more familiar orange. 

“Did you have trouble at first?” Thor asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t want to break the peace that had settled over them, the sudden cessation of all the tension of the last week. 

Loki glanced at him. His hands moved in delicate patterns and a large hide appeared, which he floated over the ground. It was an unattractive brownish-gray, but waterproofed on the bottom and warm with thick fur on the top. “Yes. I . . . had difficulty letting go of the Aesir form Odin put me in. I didn’t feel the cold as you do, even then, but much more than I do now.”

Fandral dropped gratefully onto the hide, checking carefully that his boots and hose were dry. “I remember! You could go swimming in the earliest days of spring. Thor would always insist on going in as well, yelping the whole way and turning the color of ice.”

Thor laughed, and was delighted to see the curve of a smile on Loki’s face as he knelt with Sif to set up the spit over the fire. “Mother was furious, but I did it every year. She used to lecture me about Midgardian sneezes and how I deserved to have them for being a fool.”

“Are you saying,” Loki asked, his voice sly, “that she was wrong?”

“Of course not. I never argue with Mother. I’m not _that_ much of a fool.” 

Conversation, so stilted in the palace, flowed more easily here. They spoke little more of the past, but questions flowed concerning Jotunheim’s seasons, their exports, some gossip from Asgard, the state of Vanaheim. Loki produced a large canteen of magically hot cider, and the venison roasted with a delicate flavor new to the Asgardians. Sif joined Thor and Fandral on the provided hide, and Loki, to Thor’s delight, folded himself neatly on the edge closest to Thor. 

Thor beamed, Fandral smirked, Sif laughed, and Loki smiled, slow and rare, sending Thor’s heart tripping every time. 

\--------

“Could we do this again?” Sif asked as they stood outside the castle, watching the sun set beyond the frozen sea. “Perhaps in a couple of days?”

“It can be arranged,” Loki assured her. “I will see to it.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then turned, a flash of mischief in her eyes. “Perhaps we can make it more interesting this time.”

“Oh dear,” Fandral mock-moaned. “I only have so much gold on me, Sif! And you’ll be after it all!”

“No, in fact,” Sif said, holding up a gloved hand. “Rather, I believe you and I should be one team, and Thor and Loki the other.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose. “An interesting pairing.”

“Not truly. I would know if my future husband can provide for me, as a proper husband should.” Sif kept her face very serious, but there was a playfulness in her voice that she couldn’t hide. “And you will learn that I can provide better for my husband than he for me.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed and his mouth curved. He had always been drawn in by wagers. “So you say. But should you not take your father along?”

Sif sniffed. “It’s been a long time, I know, but the two of you have more practice together than you and Fandral. I won’t be accused of hobbling you.”

“So you say,” Loki all but purred, “but we both know Thor moves at half the pace of your average horseman.”

“What?!” Thor demanded, ears pink, but both lady and prince raised hands to silence him.

“And you are faster. Only fair,” Sif said. 

“And the wager?”

“When I win, you shall have my pelt made into a proper fur for my bed,” Sif said.

“And when I win?”

“If, by some miracle, you win, I will have your pelt transformed in Asgard to a cloak befitting a prince of Jotunheim.”

Loki studied her shrewdly. Sif looked back, refusing to back down. Eventually, she held out her hand. Loki, to Thor’s surprise and delight, accepted it. 

“I will arrange everything. The day after tomorrow? The goal is to be two pelts, finest wins?” This had been a standard bet when they were not yet of age and determined to run foolishly through the forest, trying to get gouged by wild beasts.

Sif inclined her head regally. “Very well, Prince Loki.” Then, she grinned. 

\------

_Dear Brother,_

_Have you ever been so frustrated with another human being that you felt the world would be improved if they were in a dungeon under the palace for a while? Of course you have, you grew up with me. Well, father’s latest favorite advisor is legitimately talking about holding some sort of dance of ball so that I can be introduced to “eligible ladies” who would make good queens and father “strong children.” I feel like a stallion let out to stud. It’s disgusting. I put my foot down, and so did Mother. Father was seriously considering it, I think, as if life is some ridiculous Midgardian fairy tale. Sometimes I think he takes leave of his senses, though I’d rather you not spread that around. I’m fairly certain it’s treason._

_Father married Mother when he was in his 3000s, and here is trying to marry me off and I’m not even two hundred. Things have been difficult between Mother and Father for a long time, but I fear we’re reaching a breaking point._

_Can you imagine me, though? Stomping on lovely toes all night until some woman comes along strong enough to stomp mine? They’d have me at the alter in five minutes, hair not even brushed!_

_Thor_

_\------_

_Byleister has a child. Born female, she is a sweet babe, and of normal size, to Laufey’s relief. Farbauti is utterly smitten with her already. My bearer’s parenting instincts are especially strong. It’s a relief to have some of them redirected from me, as her youngest, to Byleister’s child. They’ve named her Leibindi. I suppose I’m honored, but I’m not Helblindi. For all that I exist in two worlds and none, I’m still Loki. I’ve no interest in becoming someone else._

_Leibindi already pulls little wisps of seidr at her fingertips. Byleister asks me to train her when she’s old enough, and that is truly an honor. I was surprised enough not to know the correct words to say; there are ritual exchanges for this sort of responsibility. Farbauti helped me in the end. So I have become future magic master to my niece._

_It is not something I believed would happen, when I first came here. I was too stubborn, I think, to let it._

\------------------------

“What was that about?” Thor asked as they parted ways in Sif’s rooms that night.

“You’re welcome,” was Sif’s only reply before she swept into her bedroom. Thor glanced at Fandral, who shrugged.

“I’m not foolish enough to pretend I understand women,” he said, slapping Thor on the back. “Come on, time for our beauty sleep. Not that we’ll be half as lovely as Loki.” He sighed dramatically, and then danced neatly out of the way of Thor’s reprimanding punch to the shoulder. 

Thor paused by his bed and stared down at the small wooden chest he kept on the table beside it. Snakes were beautifully carved into the sides, their eyes inlaid green gems. He ran his fingers along one sinuous body. “You . . . go ahead,” he said. “There’s something I want to take care of.”

“Suit yourself, oh great prince. Some of us are exhausted after today.” Fandral stripped and fell happily into bed as Thor lifted the box and, wishing his friend a pleasant sleep, slipped back into the hallway. 

The Jotun palace was large, but not terribly difficult to navigate, and Thor had a good sense of direction (one of his few good senses, a certain mischief maker had told him when they were adolescents). He wasn’t sure how his presence in the halls late in the evening would be taken, but he had learned long before that as long as he strode with purpose, few people cared to interrogate him. This proved to be true even among the giants. He nodded politely to guards and servants as he passed, but none tried to waylay him as he turned down a short hallway that had been pointed out during their first guided tour of the palace.

This was where Loki’s apartments were. 

He hesitated at the door. It _was_ late, though they had parted less than an hour earlier, and the Loki of their youth had never slept a great deal. Loki loved the night, the stars and the darkness, and preferred to sleep through the morning. Given that their mornings here hadn’t started with the break of dawn, Thor decided to gamble on that still being true.

Lifting a hand, he knocked thrice on the heavy wooden door. 

It had been a good day. An excellent day, really, the first since they came here that Thor had seen the man behind the mask Loki wore. The boy he loved had peeked out, teasing and quick-witted. 

He wanted to hold on to that.

The door opened and there was Loki, wearing a long green and black robe so like the ones he’d worn in Asgard that it made Thor’s heart ache. The green eyes widened for no more than a single breath, then narrowed into the sly expression Loki used to pretend a surprise had been totally expected. “Thor,” he said, “to what do I owe this midnight visitation? Is there something wrong with your rooms?”

“No.” Thor tried to let his eyes run over Loki without making it seem like he was staring. The gold and silver was gone from the elegant horns and only his small earrings remained. The heavy necklace of a prince was gone, all the trappings and bits and bobs. His hair hung loose down his back, soft waves that he’d always fought against when they were young. He looked-

He looked like _Loki_ , blue skin notwithstanding.

He was beautiful in all his trappings, his graceful movements, his tailored clothes. But standing in his robe, a teasing smile on his lips, he was breathtaking.

Thor was suddenly very glad he hadn’t brought Fandral along.

“No,” he said again, giving his head a little shake that made Loki’s dark brows rise. “There’s nothing wrong. I just,” he held out the box, “I wanted to give you this.”

Loki looked at it with something akin to nervousness. “Why?”

“Because I brought it for you.”

A sigh, a roll of his eyes. “Yes, but why _now_? You’ve been here for days, and we’ve done all the official exchanges.”

Thor rolled his eyes right back. “Because it’s not official, it’s friendly, because today was a good day, and because I want you to have them.” He gave it a little shake. “It’s not filled with mysterious poison, Br-“ he caught himself, though he hated it, “Prince.”

Loki reached out, his hands seeming more delicate without the wrist guards he usually wore. He took it carefully, making sure that his skin, not covered as it usually was, didn’t brush Thor’s. He studied it a moment and then, without needing instruction, pressed one of the snake’s eyes. The box opened quietly. 

Thor grinned. “Knew you’d get it,” he said as elegant fingers trailed along the edges of more than a hundred carefully folded pages.

Loki didn’t look up as he asked, his voice strangely hesitant, “What are these?”

Thor rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly and unusually shy. “Ah. Letters?” He made it sound like a question. “I couldn’t _send_ them, but I _wrote_ them. I mean. I could have, I guess, from another realm but there’s been so little contact in and out of Jotunheim…and the rule was to leave you alone.” He shifts from foot to foot, feeling a bit like a schoolboy turning in his most prized essay. “You..don’t have to read them. Most of them are nonsense anyway. I just…wanted you to know. That. I was thinking of you.”

Loki stared at him. It was open surprise, so rare on Loki’s face. His gaze darted from the box, to Thor, and back again. When he spoke, his voice was very low. “Thank you. Thor.”

Thor grinned. “It’s no-well, they are addressed to you. Just playing messenger.” He took a step back, still in the hallway. “I’ll see you at breakfast then, your royal highness.”

Loki’s smile was fleeting, but Thor memorized it and tucked it away to bring up later. “Yes. Yes, good night, Odinson.”

Thor stood a moment longer, grinning foolishly, and then turned on his heel in the direction of the guest suites, humming cheerfully under his breath as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Tuesday, June 25, Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, in which something happens that puts the marriage and the realms in jeopardy, and Loki and Thor have to try and solve it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, and I apologize for the delay. Since the last chapter, one of my cats died of a heart attack and then another became seriously ill. The costs have been over $1000 so I'm focusing on some paying work for now. There will be a delay, but I'll be back!

Loki doesn’t need as much sleep as others, Aesir or Jotun. This is a relic from the woman who first pretended to be his mother. It had been clear from a young age that his seidr was far beyond that of most Aesir, even as Thor outstripped him in height and mass. Frigga had taken him under her wing, under the tutelage of herself and her ladies, and had delighted in his desire to learn. He was curious and talented and powerful – a heady combination for any teacher. As his magic grew, he learned to make it replace food, water, sleep, even air when he wanted. He didn’t need sleep because his seidr, ever revitalizing, kept him renewed.

He learned early to love the dark hours, the quiet and the deep of night. He perfected his snake form in the moonlit garden, experimented with flight beneath the stars. He read books and practiced spells and studied the tactics of war that Thor never dedicated enough attention to. He moved silently throughout Asgard, hearing secrets, skirting clandestine lovers, finding pathways only available in the magic of the dark. When he first came to Jotunheim, the dark had brought a blessed peace. Two worlds can be much the same in the dark, as long as you don’t look at the stars.

But of course he did.

And he knew.

The night Thor came to his door, looking soft and tired and bringing up a million buried memories, Loki was the sort of exhausted earned in a long and busy day. He wanted to sleep, and his body insisted he needed to, but his curiosity had always been somewhere between an asset and a vice. He crossed the room and settled on his bed, legs tucked comfortably beside him as his fingertips trailed over the edges of the letters. Some were crisp, as if folded once and tucked away, but others were softened from being opened and refolded too many times. 

“Sentimental fool,” he murmured, and if he ddn’t stop the soft smile that curved his lips, no one was there to know of it. “Of course you wrote me secret letters.” 

He wondered if they were in any sort of order. Had he written them, they would be neatly chronological, but these came from Thor. Thor, whose idea of organization consisted of throwing three like objects in roughly the same corner. There’d been a reason they’d ended up with the classic line painted down their shared room as children. Thor was as likely to shove each one in at random, with no sense of continuity or time. 

“Just a few,” Loki told himself, pulling out the soft-edged paper in the very front. They looked older there, and more had been clearly revisited than in the back. He flicked it open, seeing the familiar, messy scrawl of Thor’s handwriting. His own was beautiful, of course, but Thor was ever in a hurry. The letter wasn’t dated –of course not, that would be too simple-but it was clearly the first, based on the content. 

Dear Brother, 

Father says I am not to write your letters—

\---------

In Jotunheim’s castle, breakfast is generally the largest shared meal of the day. The royal family, nobles in residence, and the entire castle staff gather in the large banquet hall for fish, crab, pickled vegetables, kelp, small eggs, and other delicacies from the sea. The Asgardians were fascinated to see that the same food, in the same amounts, were available on all the tables, from the king’s to the parlor maids. During their visit, they sat at a side table, slightly lower than the others, with Loki and Svaldin. 

The morning after the hunt, Loki arrived a few minutes late. He looked beautiful: his shoulders bare, save for the protective fabric, his long hair half up and studded with delicate shells, the cut of his clothing caught somewhere between what would be considered feminine and masculine in Asgard. The distinctions in Jotunheim were nowhere near as clear, and Loki clearly took advantage of that fact. Thor, who had seen Loki’s struggles with conforming to Agardian standards in their youth, lost his breath at the sight.

Beautiful. 

Thor’s smile was more shy than usual as Loki slid into his seat beside Sif. Usually, Fandral sat on his other side and Thor on Sif’s, but they had swapped for the day, protocol or not. Thor’s suggestion that they do so had been met with murmurs and elbows from his friends, but he ignored them with good humor. Clearly, he was not as subtle as he’d thought in his feelings for Loki. “Good morning, Prince,” he said warmly. 

Loki stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed slowly, as if on purpose. He turned and nodded, and his mouth curved into the smile that had greeted Thor when they were young men: fond and a little exasperated. “Prince Thor,” he answered. “You look as if you slept well.”

“Did you not?” Thor asked, mildly concerned. “We were all tired after yesterday.”

Loki looked back at his plate, slivers of smoked salmon and pickled vegetables, but said with humor, “You know I’ve never been able to abandon reading materials for sleep.”

Thor laughed, bright and startling. Everyone else at the table turned to see, but he only waved a hand. “Sorry, sorry. Just…yes.” His eyes crinkled at the edges. As the others went back to their food, he said quietly, “I told you I missed you.”

Loki looked at him, really looked without his gaze skittering away as if afraid of being burned. Maybe he was. Thor could see it now, the fear Loki was hiding. 

Loki was impossible to understand, and always had been, but Thor knew he came closest. He’d been proud of that, when he was young and foolish and growing in arrogance. Now he saw it as a blessing. 

“I never said you didn’t,” Loki said, his voice careful and smooth, but he met Thor’s eyes. 

“But you thought it.”

Loki bit his lip, a very old habit indeed. He’d trained it out of himself when they were in late adolescence. Thor had always missed it a little; it was a part of Loki locking himself away, going from Thor’s most intimate companion to a near-stranger. “I . . . knew you would,” he admitted quietly. “It was easier not to dwell on it.”

“I-” Thor stopped. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to force Loki to admit to… _something_. But instead he shook his head sharply. “That makes sense. You’ve always been more sensible than me.”

Loki gave a delicate little snort. “That’s an understatement,” he said dryly. Thor grinned and let his hand inch closer to his brother’s, small fingers touching. Loki didn’t look down, but he also didn’t move away. 

“Will you be with us today?” Thor asked. 

Sif leaned forward, looking around him. She had the look of a woman who had been doing some fascinating eavesdropping. “Yes, as I recall it’s all wedding planning today.” She seemed calm at the prospect, the underlying anger relaxed. Thor felt immediately suspicious. “Do you get the joy of being around for all the fittings and whatnot?”

They had known each other since childhood, after all. 

Loki nodded. “Did you bring a wedding dress?”

“No. I assumed you’d want me to follow your traditions. I have some nice ones, though.”

“Good. My tailors will be the ones you’re working with. The goal is to make something that combines both cultures, that can be worn at both ceremonies.” He raised dark eyebrows. “Jotun don’t generally wear dresses,” he offered, “if that’s a comfort.”

Sif laughed. “It is, actually. I hate not being able to move.” She motioned to Loki. “That’s nearly a…split skirt? Though?”

Loki shrugged. “It’s a choice.”

“An excellent one,” Fandral offered, and Loki sent him a smile that made Thor want to stand between them and steal it for himself. 

“Thank you,” Loki said, practically preening under the compliment. “Lady Sif, and I will be dealing with minutae throughout the day, I’m afraid. Thor, what you do with your time is up to you, as we will be escorted by your etiquette master. You can watch fittings and discuss decorations, or there’s training you could join in the courtyard.” He leaned forward. “I’d prefer,” he said quietly, “that you and Fandral attend the training. I worked for some time to convince Laufey into a shared training. There was concern about giving Jotunheim’s tactics away. It would be the more diplomatic choice.”

Thor nodded. “Of course.”

Fandral flashed his pretty eyes. “Will you be joining us on the field later?”

“Perhaps, if Lady Sif and I can get away, and if she wants to.”

“Do I want to _hit_ something?” Sif asked. “Absolutely. And double if it’s one of you three.”

“Then I will do what I can to facilitate the planning, giving us time in the evening. It will be a pleasure, fighting someone of my height – the tactics are different from fighting giants, and I’m out of practice.”

Sif’s grin had a knife’s edge. “Excellent,” she said with exaggerated evil that sent a laugh down the table, even Fandral’s long-suffering grandmother and the quiet and watchful Svaldin.

This was working, Thor thought as conversations picked up down the table, the handful of small Jotun relaxing and exchanging stories with the Aesir. Against all odds, this was working. 

And as long as he didn’t consider the fact that “this” was an arranged marriage, he’d be fine.

\-----

By the time they sparred that evening, Sif was so sick of outfit designs that she had all the energy for carnage, Thor and Fandral were so tired from trying to keep up with the Jotun throughout the morning that they mostly wanted a nap (Loki and Sif, in voices that implied they would be dismissed as weaklings if they agreed, offered to put off the sparring until the “poor lambs” as Sif said, had a chance to rest, but they refused), and Loki was calm and focused. They all wore their preferred armor and drew their preferred weapons. 

“Really,” Loki said scathingly, “you spar with Mjolnir?”

“Really,” Thor shot back, knowing better, “you spar with a dozen flying knives, clones, illusions, and sparks?”

Loki’s smile would have looked well suited for a wolf. “Very well then, Prince Thor, but we’re going to try not to draw blood, in case of any international incidents.” 

They squared off: Loki and Sif vs. Fandral and Thor. Loki knew he was at a disadvantage; the other three knew how each other fought, but it had been 500 years and an entire switch in training for Loki. After all, they’d never seen him use his ice abilities. 

They did now.

He was _fast_ where Sif was steady. She faced their opponents head on; he danced around them, froze their feet, their hands, sent gently blunted shafts of ice at them four, five at a time. Every time Thor or Fandral tried to focus his attention on Loki, Sif would step in with her double ended blade and draw both back to her. 

Thor and Fandral, on the other hand, had Thor’s brute strength and Fandral’s unpredictable fighting style. There were a number of times when Loki sent ice daggers flying to entirely the wrong place because Fandral had turned in another direction, and Thor’s steady approach wasn’t as tiring as Loki’s constant movement. 

It was a good match that ended with Thor and Fandral with the advantage, but for once Loki didn’t feel angry at not quite winning. It could have to do with no one having the nerve to tell the Prince of Jotunheim that he used “tricks” instead of techniques while fighting in the courtyard of his own castle; there had certainly been some of that from these three when they were younger.

Or, perhaps, people grew up. He chose not to dwell on it.

\-----

They met for the second hunt a little before dawn. It was only the four of them; Loki didn’t volunteer how he’d managed this, and they didn’t ask. Considering he’d managed it by essentially sneaking out and masking them, he thought it was just as well that they not know. 

“It’s warmer today,” he told them, “and the snow isn’t fresh. Watch for ice and stay on the relatively flat ground of the forest. The last thing we need is one of you falling off a cliff.”

Fandral fluttered his pretty lashes and covered his heart. “You _do_ care!”

Loki shot him a look. “Yes, I’d hate for anything to happen to your horses.” 

Thor snickered. Fandral gave him a betrayed look.

“All right,” Sif said, ignoring the “boys” and meeting Loki’s eye. “We reconvene here an hour before sunset. Kills are treed and marked, Loki-style,” Loki nodded, having provided the appropriate apparatus to do this, “no more than three, best pelt wins, all meat goes into the general coffers.”

“Agreed,” Loki said. He smirked broadly. “I look forward to my new cloak, Lady Sif.”

“That’s a shame,” she shot back, “since you won’t be getting one.” And with a sharp call, her horse darted forward, the cloak Loki had gifted her flying dramatically behind.

“Well,” Fandral said cheerfully, “that was dramatic.” He clucked, and his own gelding set off at an easy trot. The two of them headed west, generally the better hunting ground, due to being unfamiliar with the terrain. Loki and Thor turned east, riding into the denser forest as the sun rose in a splash of color against their backs.

\-----

It went well. 

At least, for Thor and Loki, who found three excellent specimens with enough time to stop for a proper meal beside what was currently a sculpture of dripping ice but what would be, in summer, a gorgeous waterfall surrounded by flowers. Loki described it well, and with a fondness that made Thor smile. “You do like Jotunheim, don’t you?” he asked, swallowing down some jealousy that Loki had rarely spoken so fondly of Asgard. But then, in those last centuries, Loki had so often disappeared into the wilderness, and spoken little to his brother. It was good just to hear his voice.

Loki answered, for once, without careful consideration first. “It’s beautiful.” He looked at Thor, those familiar green eyes icy and direct. “And it deserves better than Odin would make of it.”

“Odin doesn’t make Jotunheim,” Thor argued. “Laufey does.”

“Come back,” Loki hissed, “when the magic of the casket has disappeared from even my grasp, and the ice is so thick on the water that they cannot fish, and there is no spring or summer to grow crops, and watch the people starve, and tell me that it is Laufey who makes this happen, and not Odin with his hall of relics.” 

Thor had looked away, torn and ashamed. An hour passed before they spoke again.

\-----

They returned to the rendezvous point with some time to spare. 

“Why still so far from the Palace?” Thor asked, shielding his eyes to make out the spires in the distance. “It’ll be dark when we get there.”

“Scared of the dark, Odinson?” Loki asked, his teasing sharp as always.

“Only of losing a toe or three to frostbite. Not all of us are immune to the cold,” Thor rumbled back, but he was smiling. Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. Must Thor always smile when Loki snapped at him? “But you’re avoiding my question.”

Loki took a moment to trail his fingers through Rokkr’s mane, adding a soft wave of warmth to melt the crackle of ice. “It is possible,” he said, his voice innocent, “that this outing was not officially sanctioned, and it would be best not to ride directly only Palace grounds until I’ve done a bit of . . .” he lifted his eyes, looking under long, dark lashes, “negotiating.”

Thor laughed, rich and loud, and Loki’s mind brought up hundreds of memories of that sound, of the crash of ale mugs and firelight on golden braids. “You sneaked us out of the Palace?!” he demanded, still laughing. “Of course you did. And here I thought you’d become a proper prince and a good citizen!”

“Perish the thought,” Loki said haughtily. “If I did that, I would never leave the grounds.”

Thor’s eyebrows rose. “They . . .” a frown tugged at his lips. “They lock you in?”

Loki winced. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but lying at this point would be a waste of effort. Thor would gnaw at this like a dog with a bone. “I’m not under lock and key, but there has been an issue with their being . . . overprotective, due to my being taken as a baby, and also my size.” He shrugged. “It’s gotten better, and I leave when I wish to, no matter their thoughts on it.”

“Ah, yes. You always were the best escape artist I knew. Remember when we had that delegation from Vanaheim and they wanted us to do that dance? You disappeared for a week.”

“I was protecting my feet from your boots. Pure self defense.”

“I learned the dance!”

“You stomped it!” Loki shot back, but he was smiling. “And you wouldn’t let me lead, even though I was clearly better at it.”

Thor tried to look serious. “I was taller.”

“And slower.”

Thor laughed again, and Loki silently cursed the way his spirits rose at the sound. It had been 500 years. More, since he had put distance between them. And yet, here he was, his heart as foolish as ever. 

This had not been a good idea.

He sighed and looked at the sky. “It’s getting dark,” he said, frowning. “They’re late.”

“We could go look for them?” Thor offered. “You can track the markers, can’t you? Can you tell which one was last?”

“Yes, but there’s no guarantee they’ll be anywhere close.” Loki sent out a spark of energy, slipping into the forest. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

“No.”

Loki turned, scowling. “I am perfectly capable of riding in the woods by myself, Odinson.”

“You are,” Thor agreed, amazingly not rising to the bait, “but those two wouldn’t be late if something wasn’t wrong. They know how important this mission is. And if something _has_ happened, two heads are better than one.”

“Prince _Thor_ -“

“I’m coming, Loki. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” For a moment, the sky rumbled overhead, and lightning flashed in a sheet across the sky. “I can’t sense them.” He turned his head. “Can you?” 

Loki looked up at the clouds, the rumble in his bones as it dissipated. “You can search for people?”

“Only a few. Including them.” Thor nudged his horse forward. “Are you getting anything?” 

“No,” Loki admitted, “but I can’t cover so much ground.” He reached into his light saddlebag and pulled out a frost lamp, the same sort of thing he’d bought all those years ago at a fair in Asgard. With a twist, it hung in the air where they were to meet, a blue-green light in the falling dark. “Will this be enough for them to recognize we were here, should they come in behind us?”

“Yes,” Thor said thoughtfully. “I think so.” He looked worried, brows lowered fiercely over his eyes. “Should we tell the Palace?”

“Best not. I’ll send a message telling them we’re fine. We don’t want an international incident if we can avoid it.” Another motion, and a curl of seidr rushed toward the Palace. Byleister would receive it – he was the most likely to roll his eyes and assume Loki could care for himself. If nothing else, he could keep a secret, if assured it was for the greater good. Loki had said he was taking the Asgardian royalty for the day, though he’d implied something more along the lines of a peaceful day by the sea than running through the forest. Camping there wasn’t unheard of, and considered quite safe. They’d be annoyed he didn’t take guards, but wouldn’t panic.

He hoped.

“We need to go, Loki.” Thor’s voice was strong, someone who was used to giving orders. 

Loki nodded, not bothering to correct the name. He drew witchlights for them both and urged Rokkr forward, into the dark of the winter forest, Thor on his heels. “We’ll check their catch sites first,” he said, setting the mare toward the closest one. 

Something _was_ wrong. Something in the forest that tugged at his senses, something that shouldn’t be there. And the two Asgardians, who should shine to his magic like lanterns, were not even a flicker at the edge of his consciousness.


End file.
